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A' 







WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE 



Whoso Findeth a Wife 


WILLIAM ‘^LE QUEUX, 

AUTHOR OF 

“Devil’s Dice,” “ Zoraida,” “The Temptress,” etc. 



2ntl COPY, 
1898. 


CHICAGO AND NEW YORK: 

HAND, McNALLY & COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS. TWO COPIES RECEIVED 
r! S 8 3 


Copyright, 1897, 
Copyright, 1898 , 1 


yz-B 




\^/-4v0 


4327 


>y William Le Queux. 

' Rand, McNally & Co. 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE 


CHAPTER L 
A STATE SECRET. 

“Whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing, and obtaineth 
favor of the Lord.” — Proverbs xviii. 22. 

“Have those urgent dispatches come in from Berlin, 
Deedes?” 

“Captain Hamilton has not yet arrived,” I answered. 

“Eleven o’clock! Tut, tut! Every moment’s delay 
means greater risk,” and the Earl of Warnham, Her 
Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, 
strode up and down his private room, with his hat still on, 
impatiently snapping his bony fingers in agitation quite 
unusual to him. 

“Hammerton wired from Berlin yesterday, when on 
the point of leaving,” I observed, taking a telegram from 
the table before me. 

“In cipher?” 

“Yes.” 

“No accident is reported in the papers, I suppose?” 

“Nothing in the ‘Times,’ ” I replied. 

“Strange, very strange, that he should be so long over- 
due,” the Earl said, at last casting himself into his padded 
chair, and lounging back, his hands thrust deep into his 
pockets as he stared thoughtfully into space. 

I resumed my writing, puzzled at the cause of the 
chief’s excited demeanor, but a few moments later sharp 
footsteps sounded outside in the corridor, followed by a 
loud rapping, and there entered the messenger, clad in 
his heavy fur-lined traveling coat, although a July morn- 
ing, and carrying a well-worn leather dispatch-box, which 
he placed upon my table. 


6 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“Late, Hammerton. Very late,” snapped the Earl, 
glancing at his watch. 

“There’s a dense fog in the Channel, your Lordship, 
and we were compelled to come across dead slow the 
whole distance. I’ve driven straight from the station,” 
the Captain answered good-humoredly, looking so 
spruce and well-groomed that few would credit he had 
been traveling for nearly twenty-four hours. 

“Go and rest. You must return to-night,” his Lord- 
ship said testily. 

“At seven-thirty?” 

“Yes, at my house in Berkeley Square.” 

Then, taking up the receipt I had signed for the dis- 
patch-box, the messenger, to whom a journey to Con- 
stantinople or St. Petersburg was about as fatiguing as 
a ride on the Underground Railway is to ordinary per- 
sons, walked jauntily out, wishing us both good-day. 

When the door had closed. Lord Warnham quickly 
opened the outer case with his key, and drew forth a 
second box, covered with red morocco, and securely 
sealed. This he also opened, and, after rummaging for 
some moments among a quantity of papers, exclaimed, 
in a tone of satisfaction, — 

“Ah! Here it is. Good! Seals not tampered with.” 

Withdrawing from the box a large official envelope, 
doubly secured with the seal of the British Embassy at 
Berlin, and endorsed by Sir Philip Emden, our Ambas- 
sador, he walked hastily to one of the long windows over- 
looking the paved courtyard of the Foreign Office, and 
for some moments closely scrutinized both seals and 
signature. 

“Did you fear that the papers might have been ex- 
amined in transit?” I inquired of my grave-faced chief 
in surprise. 

“No, Deedes, no. Not at all,” he answered, returning 
to his table, cutting open the envelope, and giving a 
rapid glance at its contents to assure himself that it was 
the same document he had sent to the German capital a 
week before. “Hammerton is trustworthy, and while 
dispatches are in his care I have no fear. The only ap- 
prehension I had was that an attempt might possibly have 


A STATE SECRET. 


7 


been made to ascertain the nature of this treaty,” the 
great statesman added, indicating the document beneath 
his hand. 

“The result would be detrimental?” I hazarded. 

“Detrimental!” he cried. “If the clauses of this secret 
defensive alliance became known to our enemies war 
would be inevitable. Russia and France would com- 
bine, and the whole of the Powers would become em- 
broiled within a week. Exposure of these secret nego- 
tiations would be absolutely disastrous. It would, I ver- 
ily believe, mean irretrievable ruin to England’s prestige 
and perhaps to her power.” 

He uttered the ominous words slowly and distinctly, 
then carefully refolding the precious document, with its 
string of sprawly signatures, he placed it in another en- 
velope, sealing it with his own private seal. 

The great statesman, the greatest Foreign Minister of 
his time, upon whose tact, judgment and forethought 
the peace and prosperity of England mainly depended, 
was tall and thin, with scanty, white hair, a pale, refined 
face, slightly wizened by age, deep-sunken, steely eyes, 
shaggy brows, a sharp, straight nose, and a breadth of 
forehead indicating indomitable perseverance and an iron 
will. His reputation as brilliant orator and shrewd and 
skillful diplomat was a household word throughout the 
civilized world, whilst in our own land confidence always 
increased when he was at the head of Foreign Affairs. 
As his confidential private secretary, I, Geoffrey Deedes, 
had daily opportunities of observing how conscientiously 
he served his Sovereign and his country, and how amaz- 
ing was his capacity for work. With him, duty was al- 
ways of paramount consideration; he worked night and 
day to sustain England’s honor and welfare, for times 
without number I had gone to his great gloomy house 
in Berkeley Square in the middle of the night and roused 
him from his bed to attend to urgent dispatches. 

Although a perfect martinet towards many in the 
various departments of the Foreign Office, he was to me 
always kind and generous. My father. Sir Reginald 
Deedes, had, as many will doubtless remember, repre- 
sented Her Majesty at the Netherlands Court for fifteen 


8 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


years until Iiis death. He was thus an old friend of the 
Earl, and it was this friendship that caused him to appoint 
me five years ago his private secretary, and, much to the 
chagrin of young Lord Gaysford, the Under Secretary, 
repose such implicit confidence in me that very frequent- 
ly he entrusted to my care the keys of the ponderous safe 
wherein were deposited the State secrets of the nation. 

“You’d better register this, and we’ll lock it away from 
prying eyes at once,” Lord Warnham said a few moments 
later, handing me the envelope after he had sealed it. 
Taking it, I went straight to my own room across the 
corridor at the head of the fine central staircase. It was 
part of my duty to receive the more important dispatches, 
number those which were sealed, and prior to deposit- 
ing them in the safe, register the number in my book, 
stating the source whence they came, the date received, 
and the name of the messenger who brought them. 

Alone in my room, I closed the door, took the register 
from my own small safe, numbered the precious envelope 
with the designation “B 27 , 893 ,” and carefully made an 
entry in the book. Having finished, a clerk brought me 
two letters from other Departments, both of which need- 
ed immediate replies, therefore I sat down and scribbled 
them while he waited. Then, having been absent from 
the Chief’s room nearly a quarter of an hour, I went back 
with the dispatch in my hand. In the room I found 
Lord Gaysford, who, in reply to my question, stated that 
the Earl had been compelled to leave in order to attend 
a meeting of the Cabinet, which he believed would be 
a protracted one. 

To me this was provoking, for the great statesman had 
taken with him the key of the safe ; thus was I left with 
this important document in my possession. But I said 
nothing of the matter to the Under Secretary, and re- 
turning to my room placed the dispatch in my inner 
pocket for greater security, determined to keep it there 
until his Lordship returned. I feared to lock it away in 
my own safe lest anyone else might possess a key, and 
felt that in the circumstances my own pocket was the saf- 
est place. 

For nearly two hours I continued my work, it being 


A STATE SECRET. 


9 


Friday, an unusually busy day, until just as the clock at 
the Horse Guards chimed one o’clock, a clerk entered 
with the card of Dudley Ogle, my college chum, with 
whom I was now sharing, during the summer months, a 
cottage close to the Thames at Shepperton. On the 
card was the pencilled query, ‘‘Can you come and lunch 
with me?” 

For a few moments I hesitated. I was busy, and I 
was compelled to deliver the dispatch in my pocket to 
Lord Warnham before he left for home. I knew, how- 
ever, that the meeting of the Cabinet must be a long one, 
and recognizing the fact that I must lunch somewhere, I 
gave the clerk a message that I would join Mr. Ogle in 
the waiting-room in a few moments. Then, locking my 
safe, I assured myself that the dispatch was still in my* 
pocket, brushed my hat, and joined my friend. 

Dudley Ogle was the best of good fellows. After a 
rather wild college career, it had been his fancy to roam 
for about two years on the Continent, and on his return, 
his father, with whom he was not on the best of terms, 
conveniently died, leaving him possessor of about twenty 
thousand pounds. By this time he had, however, sown 
his wild oats, and instead of spending his money as most 
young men of his age would have done, he invested it, 
and now lived a careless-, indolent existence, traveling 
where he pleased, and getting as much enjoyment out of 
life as was possible. He was about my own age — 
twenty-eight, well set-up, smart-looking, with rather 
aquiline features, dark hair, and a pair of merry eyes that 
were an index to a contented mind. 

“Didn’t expect me, I suppose, old fellow?” he ex- 
claimed breezily, when we met. “I found after you’d 
left this morning that I was compelled to come up to 
town, and having nothing to do for an hour or so, it oc- 
curred to me that we might lunch together.” 

“I thought you intended to pull up as far as ‘The 
Nook,’ ” I said, laughing. 

“So I did, but I received a wire calling me to town on 
some rather urgent business. Where shall we lunch?” 

In descending the stairs and turning into Downing 
Street we discussed the merits of various restaurants, and 


10 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


finally decided upon a small, old-fashioned, unpretentious 
but well-known place a few doors from Charing Cross, 
in the direction of Whitehall, known as “The Ship.” 
Here we ate our meal, spent an hour together, and then 
parted, he leaving to return to Shepperton, I to finish my 
work and rejoin him later at our riparian cottage. 

On my return to the Foreign Office the Earl had, I 
found, just come in, and I handed him the secret docu- 
ment which some day, sooner or later, would control the 
destiny of an empire. 

“This has, of course, not been out of your possession, 
Deedes?” inquired his Lordship, looking keenly at me 
with his gray eyes, as he stood before the open door of 
the great safe. 

. “Not for a single instant,” I replied. 

“Good. I trust you,” he said, carefully placing the 
sealed envelope in a pigeon-hole to itself, and closing the 
door with a loud clang, locked it. 

“I think,” he said, his ascetic features relaxing into a 
self-satisfied smile, “I think we have once again check- 
mated our enemies, and swiftly too. The whole thing 
has been arranged and concluded within a week, thanks 
to the clever diplomacy of Emden at Berlin.” 

“And to your own forethought,” I added, laughing. 

“No, no. To Emden all credit is due, none to me, 
none,” he answered modestly; then/ turning, he gave me 
some instructions, and a few minutes later put on his hat 
and left for home. At four o’clock I also left, and driv- 
ing to Waterloo, caught my train to Shepperton, where 
I found Dudley Ogle awaiting me. Ours was a pretty 
cottage. Facing the river, it was covered with creepers, 
sweet-smelling jasmine and roses, with a rustic porch in 
front, and a large old-world garden around. Life was 
delightful there after the stuffiness of London chambers, 
and as we both had with us our men, in addition to Mrs. 
Franks, my trusty housekeeper, we were prevented from 
being troubled by the minor worries of life. 

“Hulloa, old chap!” cried Dudley, hastily rousing him- 
self from a lazy attitude on the couch in our sitting-room 
as r entered. “Stifling hot, isn’t it? There’s a wire from 


A STATE SECRET. 


II 


the Laings. They want us to dine with them to-night. 
Going?” 

I hesitated, and my reluctance did not escape him. 

“Isn’t Ella’s company sufficient inducement?” he asked 
chaffingly. 

“Going? Of course I am,” I answered quickly, glano 
ing at my watch. “We have a full hour before dress- 
ing. Let’s go for a row. It’ll improve our appetites.” 

Within a few minutes I had exchanged the frock coat 
of officialdom for flannels, and very soon we were pulling 
up-stream towards a delightful backwater that was our 
goal. As we rowed, the silence being broken only by the 
sound of the oars in the row-locks, I calmly reviewed the 
situation. Why the Laings invited me that night puz- 
zled me. Truth to tell, I loved Ella Laing with all the 
strength of my being, and had foolishly believed she re- 
ciprocated my affection until two nights ago, when I had 
called at the house near Staines, where she lived with her 
mother during the summer months. I had discovered her 
in the garden walking in lover-like attitude with Andrew 
Beck, a retired silk manufacturer, who had lived in France 
so long that he had become something of a cosmopolitan, 
and who had lately entered Parliament at a bye-election 
as representative of West Rutlandshire. I confess to 
having conceived an instinctive dislike to this man from 
the very first moment we had been introduced by a 
mutual friend in the Lobby of the House of Commons, 
for he was a parvenu of the most pronounced type, while 
his gray, beetling brows and flat, broad nose gave his 
face an expression anything but pleasing. 

Nevertheless he walked jauntily, spoke loudly in bluff, 
good-natured tones, gave excellent dinners, and, strange- 
ly enough, was voted a good fellow wherever he went. 
Yet there was an ostentatiousness about his actions that 
was sickening; his arrogant, self-assertive manner was, 
to me, extremely distasteful. The discovery that he was 
endeavoring to supplant me in Ella’s affections filled my 
cup of indignation to the full. 

I had left the garden unobserved on that fateful night, 
returned at once to our riverside cottage, and written her 
an angry letter, charging her in plain terms with having 


12 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


played me false. In reply, next morning, she sent by the 
gardener a long letter full of mild reproach, in which she 
asserted that she had no thought of love for anyone be- 
side myself, and that I had entirely misconstrued her re- 
lations with Mr. Beck. “Strange, indeed, it is that you, of 
all men, should declare that I love him,” she wrote. 
“Love! If you knew all, you would neither write nor 
utter that sacred word to me; and even though you are 
the only man for whom I have a thought, it may, after all, 
be best if we never again meet. You say you cannot 
trust me further. Well, I can only reply that my future 
happiness is in your hands. I am yours.” 

Deeply had I pondered over this curious, half-hysteri- 
cal, half-reproachful letter, re-reading it many, many 
times, and becoming more and more puzzled over its 
vague, mysterious meaning. On several occasions I had 
been upon the point of calling and questioning her, but 
had refrained. Now, however, this formal invitation to 
dine had come, no doubt, through Ella, and I saw in it 
her desire to personally explain away my jealousy. So I 
accepted; 


CHAPTER II. 

‘THE NOOK.” 

When, a couple of hours later, we entered Mrs. Laing’s 
garden, the first person we encountered was the man I 
hated, Andrew Beck, in his ill-fitting dress clothes and 
broad, crumpled shirt-front, with its great diamond soli- 
taire, lounging in a wicker chair at the river’s brink, 
smoking, and in solitude enjoying the glorious sunset 
that, reflecting upon the water, transformed it into a 
stream of rippling gold. “The Nook,” as Mrs. Laing’s 
house was called, was a charming old place facing the 
river at a little distance above Staines Bridge — long, low, 
completely covered with ivy and surrounded by a wide 
sweep of lawn that sloped down to the water’s edge, and 


THE NOOK/’ 


13 


a belt of old elms beneath the cool shade of which I had 
spent many delightfully lazy afternoons by the side of my 
well-beloved. 

‘'Ah! Deedes,” exclaimed Beck, gayly, rising as we 
approached, “I was waiting for somebody to come. The 
ladies haven’t come down yet.” 

“Have you seen them?” I asked. 

‘TSTot yet,” he replied; then turning to my friend Dud- 
ley, he began chaffing him about a young and wealthy 
widow he had rowed up to Windsor in our boat a few 
days before. 

“We saw you, my boy. We saw you!” he laughed. 
“You were talking so confidentially as you passed, that 
Ella remarked that you were contemplating stepping into 
the dead man’s shoes.” 

“No, no,” Dudley retorted good-humoredly. “No 
widows for me. She was merely left under my care for 
an hour or so, and I had to do the amicable. It’s really 
too bad of you all to jump at such rash conclusions.” 

At that instant a soft, musical voice behind me uttered 
my name, and, turning, I met Ella, with a light wrap 
thrown about her shoulders, coming forward to me with 
outstretched hand. “Ah! Geoffrey, how are you?” she 
cried gayly, with joy in her brilliant, sparkling eyes. Then, 
as our hands clasped, she added in an undertone, “I 
knew you would come; I knew you would forgive.” 

“I have not forgiven,” I answered, rather coldly, bend- 
ing over her slim white hand. 

“But I have committed no fault,” she said, pouting 
prettily. 

“You have given me no satisfactory explanation.” 

“Wait until after dinner. We will come out here 
together, where we can talk without being overheard,” 
she whispered hurriedly, then left me abruptly to greet 
Dudley and Andrew Beck. There was something sig- 
nificant in the swift, inquisitive glance she exchanged 
with the last-named man, and turning away I strode 
across the lawn annoyed. A moment later I met Mrs. 
Laing herself. She was elderly and effusive ; tall, and of 
stately bearing. Her hair was perfectly white, but by no 
means scanty, her face was clever and refined without 


14 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


that grossness that too often disfigures a well-preserved 
woman of fifty, and in her dark eyes, undimmed by time, 
there was always an expression of calm contentment. 
Her husband had been a great traveler until his death 
ten years ago, and she, accompanying him on his jour- 
neys in the East, had become a clever linguist, an accom- 
plishment which her only daughter, Ella, shared. 

As we stood together chatting, and watching the boats 
full of happy youths and maidens gliding past in the 
brilliant afterglow, I thought that never had I seen Ella 
looking so handsome, as, standing with Dudley, she had 
taken up Beck’s theme, and was congratulating him upon 
his trip with the skittish widow. 

Hers was an oval face, perfect in its symmetry, clear 
cut and refined, a trifle pale, perhaps, but from her eyes 
of that darkest blue that sometimes sparkled into the 
brightness of a sapphire, sometimes deepened into soft- 
est gray like the sky on a summer night, there shone an 
inner beauty, indicative of a purity of soul. The mouth 
was mobile, short and full, with an exquisite finish about 
the curve of the lips, the nose short and straight, and the 
hair of darkest gold — the gold that cannot be produced 
artificially, but has a slight dash of red in it, just suffi- 
cient to enrich the brown of the shadows and give a burn- 
ish to the ripples in the high lights. Her eyebrows were 
set rather high up from the eye itself, and were slightly 
drooped at the corner nearest the ear, imparting to her 
face a kind of plaintive, questioning look that was ex- 
ceedingly becoming to her. Her gown was of soft cling- 
ing silk of palest heliotrope, that bore the unmistakable 
stamp of Paris, while on her slim wrist I noticed she wore 
the diamond bangle I had given her six months before. 
As she chatted with Dudley, she turned and laughed at 
me gayly over her shoulder from time to time, and when 
we entered the house a few minutes later, it was with sat- 
isfaction that I found myself placed beside her at table. 

Dinner was always a pleasant, if slightly stately, meal 
at Mrs. Laing’s. She was a brilliant and accomplished 
hostess whose entertainments at her house in Pont Street 
were always popular, and who surrounded herself with 
interesting and intellectual people. Bohemia was gen- 


THE NOOK/ 


15 


erally well represented at her receptions, for the lions of 
the season, whether literary, artistic or musical, were 
always to be met there — a fact which induced many of 
the more exclusive set to honor the merry widow by their 
presence. Wearied, however, of the eternal small talk 
about new books, new plays, new pictures, and the new- 
est fads, I was glad when, after smoking, we were free 
to rejoin the ladies in the quaint, oak-panelled drawing- 
room. 

The moon had risen, and ere long I strolled with Ella 
through the French windows, and out upon the lawn, 
eager to talk alone with her. 

“Well,” she said at length, when we were seated in the 
shadow beneath one of the high rustling elms, “so you 
want an explanation. What can I give?” 

“Your letter conveys the suspicion that there exists 
some secret between Beck and yourself,” I said, as calmly 
as I could. 

“My letter!” she exclaimed in a voice that seemed a 
little harsh and strained. “What did I say? I really 
forget.” 

“It’s useless to prevaricate, Ella,” I said, rather im- 
patiently. “You say that if I knew all I would never 
utter words of love to you. What do you mean?” 

“Exactly what I wrote,” she answered huskily, in a low 
voice. 

“You mean to imply that you are unworthy of the love 
of an honest man?” I observed in astonishment. 

“Yes,” she gasped hoarsely. “I do not — I — cannot 
deceive you, Geofeey, because I love you.” The last 
sentence she uttered passionately, with a fierce fire burn- 
ing in her eyes. “You are jealous of Andrew Beck, a 
man old enough to be my father. Well, I confess I was 
foolish to allow him to walk with me here with his arm 
around my waist ; yet at that moment the indiscretion did 
not occur to me.” 

“But he was speaking to you — whispering into your 
ready ears words of love and tenderness. He spoke in 
persuasive tones, as if begging you to become his wife,” 
I said angrily, the very thought of the scene I had wit- 
nessed filling me with indignation and bitter hatred. 


i6 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“No, you are entirely mistaken, Geoffrey. No word of 
love passed between us,’' she said quietly, looking into 
my eyes with unwavering glance. 

I smiled incredulously. 

“You will perhaps deny that here, within six yards of 
this very spot, you stopped and burst forth into tears?” 
I exclaimed, with cold cynicism. 

“I admit that. The words he uttered were of sufficient 
significance to bring tears to my eyes,” she replied 
vaguely. 

“He must have spoken words of love to you,” I argued. 
“I watched you both.” 

“I deny that he did, Geoffrey,” she cried fiercely, 
starting up. “To satisfy you, I am even ready to take an 
oath before my Creator that the subject of our con- 
versation was not love.” 

“What was Beck persuading you to do?” I demanded. 

“No, no,” she cried, as if the very, thought was repul- 
sive to her. “No, do not ask me. I can never tell you, 
never !” 

“Then there is a secret between you that you decline 
to reveal,” I said reproachfully. 

She laughed a harsh metallic laugh, answering in a 
tone of feigned flippancy, — 

“Really, Geoffrey, you are absurdly and unreason- 
ably suspicious. I tell you I love no other man but your- 
self, yet merely because it pleases you to misconstrue 
what you have witnessed you brand me as base and faith- 
less. It is unjust.” 

“But your letter?” I cried. 

“I had no intention of conveying the idea that any 
secret existed between Mr. Beck and myself. He was, 
as you well know, an old friend of my father’s, and has 
known me since a child. Towards me he is always 
friendly and good-natured, but I swear he has never 
spoken to me of love.” 

“But you cannot deny, Ella, that a secret — some fact 
that you are determined to keep from me — exists, and 
that if not of love, it was of that secret Beck spoke to you 
so earnestly in the garden here!” 

Her dry lips moved, but no sound escaped them. She 


“THE NOOK.” 17 

shivered. I saw my question had entirely nonplussed 
her, and I felt instinctively that I had uttered the truth. 

At that instant, however, a servant crossed the lawn in 
the moonlight, and approaching, handed me a telegram, 
stating that Juckes, my man, had brought it over from 
Shepperton, fearing that it might be of importance. 

Hastily I thrust it into my pocket unopened, and when 
the servant was out of hearing I repeated the plain ques- 
tion I had put to my well-beloved. 

In the bright moonlight I watched how pale and agi- 
tated was her face, while involuntarily she shuddered, as 
if the thought that I might ascertain the truth terrified 
her. 

“Geoffrey,” she said at last, in a low, plaintive voice as, 
sitting beside me, her slim fingers suddenly closed con- 
vulsively upon mine, “why cannot you trust me, when 
you know I love you so dearly?” 

“Why cannot you tell me the truth instead of evading 
it? You say you are unworthy of my love. Why?” 

“I — I cannot tell you,” she cried wildly, breaking into 
hysterical sobs. “Ah! You do not know how I have 
suffered, Geoffrey, or you would not speak thus to me. 
If you can no longer trust me, then we must, alas! part. 
But if we do, I shall think ever of you as one who mis- 
judged me and cast me off, merely because of my in- 
ability to give you an explanation of one simple incident.” 

“But I love you, Ella,” I cried. “Why should we part 
— why should — ” 

“Hulloa, Deedes!” interrupted Beck’s high-pitched, 
genial voice. “Eve been looking for you everywhere. 
We’re all going for a moonlight row. Come along.” 

Further conversation was, I saw, out of the question, 
and a few minutes later we had all embarked, with the 
exception of Mrs. Laing, and were gliding slowly down 
the stream, now glittering in the brilliant moonbeams. 
Dudley had brought Ella’s mandolin from the house, and 
as our prow cut the rippling waters he played a soft, 
charming gondolier’s song. My love sat beside me in 
the stern, and her eyes mutely asked forgiveness as ever 
and anon she turned to me. I saw how beautiful she was, 
how full of delicate grace, and how varying were her 
2 


l8 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

moods; yet she seemed nervous, highly strung, with a 
strange harshness in her voice that I had never before 
noticed. She spoke no word to Beck, and I remarked 
within myself that she avoided him, while once, when he 
leaned over to grasp her hand, she shrank shudderingly 
from its contact. 

An hour later, when, after rowing down to Laleham, 
we had returned to the “Nook” and, at the instigation of 
the ladies, were enjoying cigars, I accidentally placed my 
hand in the breast-pocket of my dress-coat and there felt 
the telegram which I had until that moment entirely for- 
gotten. Opening it, I was amazed to find it in cipher. 
The cipher signature was that of the Earl of Warnham, 
and I saw it had been transmitted over the private wire 
from Warnham, his seat in Sussex. 

Taking a pencil from my pocket I at once proceeded 
to transcribe the mysterious array of letters, and when I 
at last discovered the purport of the message, I sat back 
in my chair, breathless and rigid, while the flimsy paper 
nearly fell from my nerveless fingers. 

“Why, Geoffrey!” cried Ella, starting up in alarm and 
rushing towards me, “what’s the matter? You are as 
pale as death. Have you had bad news?” 

“Bad news!” I answered, trying to laugh and slowly 
rousing myself. “No bad news at all, except that I must 
leave for town at once.” 

“Well, you certainly look as if you’ve been hard hit 
over a race,” Beck exclaimed, laughing. 

“You can’t possibly get a train now till 11:30. It’s 
hardly ten yet,” said my well-beloved, exchanging a 
strange mysterious glance with Dudley. 

“Then I must go by that,” I answered, again re-read- 
ing the pink paper, replacing it in my pocket, and en- 
deavoring to preserve an outward calm. 

Presently, when Ella was again alone with me, her 
first question was, — 

“What bad news have you received, Geoffrey?” 

“None,” I answered, smiling. “It is a private matter, 
of really no importance at all.” 

“Oh, I thought it must have been something very, very 
serious, your hand trembled so, and you turned so pale.” 


THE NOOK.” 


19 


'‘Did I?” I laughed cheerily. “Well, it’s nothing, 
dearest; nothing at all.” 

Thus reassured, she continued to chat with that bright 
vivacity that was one of her most engaging character- 
istics. I have, however, no idea of what she said ; I only 
answered her mechanically, for I was too full of gloomy 
apprehensions to heed her gossip, even though I loved 
her with all my soul. 

Half-an-hour later, Dudley, finding that I had to go to 
town, announced his intention of walking back to Shep- 
perton. 

“The night is lovely, and the moon bright as day,” 
he said, as we all shook hands with him in the hall. “I 
shall enjoy the walk.” 

“Beware of widows!” shouted Beck, standing at the 
top of the wide flight of steps. 

We all laughed heartily. 

“None about to-night,” my friend shouted back good- 
humoredly, and, setting out briskly, disappeared a mo- 
ment later down the long, winding carriage drive. 

“It’s really too bad to tease Mr. Ogle about widows,” 
Ella protested when we went in. 

“He enjoys the joke hugely,” I said. “Dudley’s an 
excellent fellow. I’ve never in my life seen him out of 
temper.” 

“In that case he ought to make a good husband,” she 
replied, laughing, as together we all entered Mrs. Laing’s 
pretty drawing-room, with its shaded lamps and cosy- 
corners, where we spent another three-quarters of an 
hour chatting until, finding we had just time to catch our 
train, Beck and I made our adieux. When I shook hands 
with Ella she whispered an earnest appeal for forgiveness, 
which, truth to tell, I feigned not to hear. Then we 
parted. 

With Beck at my side, I walked sharply down the 
drive, rendered dark by the thick canopy of trees over- 
head, and had almost gained the gate leading to the high 
road when suddenly, catching my foot against some un- 
seen object in the pathway, I fell heavily forward upon 
the gravel, just managing to save my face by putting out 
both hands. 


20 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


‘‘Hulloa!” cried Beck; “what’s the matter?” 

“The matter!” I gasped, groping at the mysterious 
object quickly with my hands. “I believe I’ve fallen over 
somebody.” 

“Drunk, I suppose. Come along, or we sha’n’t catch 
our train.” 

But, still kneeling, I quickly took my vestas from my 
pocket and struck one. By its fitful light I distinguished 
the prostrate body of a man lying face downwards, with 
arms outstretched beyond his head. Turning him over 
with difficulty, I lit another vesta and held it close down 
to his face. 

Next second I drew back with a loud cry of dismay 
and horror. It was Dudley Ogle. 

His bloodless features were hideously distorted, his 
limbs rigid, his wildly-staring eyes were already glazed, 
and his stiffened fingers icy cold. 

In an instant I knew the truth. He was dead. 


CHAPTER III. 

A MYSTERY. 

“Why!” gasped Beck, recognizing the cold, drawn 
features by the light of the match he struck. “It’s Dud- 
ley! Run back to the house and get assistance quickly. 
I’ll remain here. Life may not be extinct after all, poor 
fellow!” 

At this suggestion I sprang up, and dashing away 
along the drive, burst into the drawing-room from the 
lawn. 

“Geoffrey!” cried Mrs. Laing, starting up quickly from 
a cosy-corner wherein she had settled to read. “What 
has happened? You look scared.” 

“A very painful thing has occurred,” I gasped breath- 
lessly, striving to preserve a calm demeanor. “We have 
found poor Dudley lying in the drive yonder. He’s 
dead!” 

“Dead!” she screamed hysterically. “Dudley dead?” 


A MYSTERY. 


21 


“Yes, alas!” I replied. “Beck is with him, awaiting 
assistance.” 

“I can’t believe it,” she cried, clutching at a chair for 
support. Her face was ashen pale, and her bejewelled 
hands trembled violently. “Poor Dudley I If he is dead, 
it is certain that he has been the victim of foul play,” 
she added mechanically, in a low tone. Then suddenly 
recovering herself, she inquired the circumstances in 
which we had found him. 

“I will explain later,” I cried impatiently. “May I 
ring for the servants?” 

“No,” she cried, starting forward with a strange, wild 
look. “Return to him, and leave all to me. For the 
present the truth must be kept from Ella. There are 
reasons why my daughter should not know of this tragic 
affair until to-morrow. As you are aware, she is weak 
and unstrung to-night, and has already gone to her room. 
I fear that any sudden shock may prove extremely detri- 
mental to her, and I therefore trust you will respect my 
wishes.” 

“Certainly,” I answered. “But we are not yet con- 
vinced that life is extinct, so while you arrange for his 
removal here, Fll go at once for a doctor.” 

“Yes, do. Dr. Allenby is nearest. The first house 
over the bridge,” she replied hastily, and as she rang the 
bell I sprang out again upon the lawn and rushed away 
along the drive. 

Beck was still kneeling beside the prostrate man, sup- 
porting his head upon his knee, and approaching, I asked 
whether he had detected any signs of respiration. 

“None whatever,” he answered. “Pm afraid, poor fel- 
low, he has gone.” 

Briefly I explained my errand and rushed off for medi- 
cal assistance, returning to “The Nook” with the gray- 
haired practitioner a quarter of an hour later. We found 
Dudley lying in the drawing-room on the large couch of 
yellow silk, with Beck and Mrs. Laing standing calmly 
on either side. In Mrs. Laing’s eyes were traces of 
tears. The doctor, after a brief examination, shook his 
head gravely, saying, — 


22 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

‘‘Life has, unfortunately, been extinct for fully an 
hour.” 

“What is the cause of death?” inquired Mrs. Laing, 
eagerly. 

“I have not yet examined the body, but there are no 
marks of violence whatever, as far as I can observe. At 
the post-mortem we may be able to discover some- 
thing.” 

She drew a deep breath. I chanced at that moment to 
glance at her, and was surprised to observe an unmistak- 
able look of terror flit for a brief instant across her hag- 
gard countenance. It seemed as though the doctor’s 
hope of determining the cause of death had aroused with- 
in her a sudden apprehension. Dr. Allenby, however, 
suggested, in polite terms, that she should leave the room, 
as he desired to examine the body, and she reluctantly 
consented, exclaiming, as she moved slowly out, — 

“I would have given worlds to have avoided all this. 
One’s name will be bruited about in the papers; and there 
will be an inquest, I suppose, and all that sort of thing. 
And dear Ella — what a terrible blow it will be to her!” 

Then, when the door had closed, while I stood gazing 
upon my intimate friend who, only an hour before, had 
been so full of life’s enjoyment, buoyant spirits and “bon- 
homie,” surprised at Mrs. Laing’s extraordinary man- 
ner, and reflecting upon her sudden strange demeanor, 
the doctor, assisted by Beck, began a minute and careful 
examination. In a quarter of an hour they satisfied 
themselves that no violence had been used, and just as 
they concluded, the police, who had been sent for, ar- 
rived. The local sub-divisional inspector, tall, red-faced, 
and inclined to obesity, a plain-clothes constable, and a 
sergeant in uniform, who entered the drawing-room, 
were at once informed of the mysterious circumstances 
in which the body had been discovered. The inspector 
scribbled some brief notes, took the names and addresses 
of all of us, remarking with politeness that we should be 
compelled to attend the inquest. 

Afterwards, the body was removed to the billiard-room 
and the plain-clothes constable left in charge of it, while, 
with Beck and Dr. Allenby, I entered the dining-room 


A MYSTERY. 


23 


where Mrs. Laing, pale, agitated and nervous, was eager- 
ly awaiting us. The arrival of the police in her house 
had apparently filled her with dread, for almost the first 
question she asked me was, — 

“Have they gone? Have they gone?’’ 

“They have left one officer on duty to prevent the body 
being touched,” I answered. 

“Then the police are absolutely in possession of my 
house! Will they search it?” she inquired hoarsely. 

“Search it! Certainly not,” I answered. “Of course, 
if foul play were suspected, they might. Otherwise they 
have no power without a search-warrant properly signed 
by a magistrate.” 

“‘But no violence is suspected,” she exclaimed in a half 
whisper, glancing over to where the doctor and Beck 
were standing in earnest conversation. “I shall therefore 
be spared the indignity of having my house searched, 
sha’n’t I?” 

“I trust so, Mrs. Laing,” I replied. “But it is not such 
a dreadful ordeal, after all, to have one’s place rum- 
maged.” 

“No, perhaps not,” she answered thoughtfully; then, 
smiling, she added, “Perhaps I am foolish to regret that 
this terrible affair has occurred at my very door. Poor 
Dudley has died suddenly, and it is only right that I, his 
intimate friend, should do what I can to ensure the last 
rite being carried out in decency. But the very thought 
of the police unnerves me; and I fear, too, on Ella’s ac- 
count. Only yesterday Dr. Allenby told her that she 
must carefully avoid any shock.” 

“But she must know the truth to-morrow,” I observed. 

“Will you break the dreadful news to her?” she urged. 
“As her betrothed, you, perhaps, can tell her better than 
anyone else.” 

“Unfortunately, I shall be unable,” I said. “This even- 
ing I received a very urgent telegram which recalls me to 
town, and having now lost my last train, I must go by the 
6:30 in the morning. I cannot get back before late in the 
evening, or it may be next day. But as soon as possible 
I will return straight here, and render you whatever as- 
sistance is in my power.” 


24 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

'Thanks. But is your business so very urgent?’' she 
asked. 

"Of greatest importance. Poor Dudley’s tragic end 
has delayed me, and even this brief delay may be of most 
serious consequence.” 

"Ah! you men in the Foreign Office are always full of 
deep schemes and clever diplomacy,” she smiled, toying 
with her mass of rings. 

I laughed, but did not reply. 

"Is it on Foreign Office business that you are com- 
pelled to leave us?” she persisted, glancing at me keenly, 
I thought, as if intent upon ascertaining the purport of 
the telegram I had received. 

"Yes,” I replied, in wonder that she should thus evince 
such a strong desire to glean the nature of my business. 
But next instant it occurred to me that possibly she 
might suspect me of being implicated in some mysterious 
manner with my friend’s sudden end, and that, believing 
I desired to escape, was determined at least to know 
where I was going, and upon what errand. 

At that moment Beck crossed to us, saying, — 

"This affair is certainly most distressing, Mrs. Laing. 
Dudley was such an excellent fellow that we must each 
one of us regret his loss very deeply indeed. I have just 
been discussing the matter with the doctor; but, of 
course, he can at present form no conjecture as to the 
cause of death.” 

"Natural causes, no doubt,” chimed in the medical 
man, in a dry, business-like tone. "I think we may at 
once dismiss all idea that violence was used.” 

"You think so?” inquired Mrs. Laing, with eagerness. 
"You don’t believe, then, he has been the victim of foul 
play?” 

"Not at all. Beyond the slight bruise on the forehead, 
evidently caused by the fall upon the gravel, there is no 
mark whatever,” the doctor answered. "Until I have 
made a thorough examination I cannot, of course, deter- 
mine the nature of the fatal cause. By noon to-morrow 
we shall, I hope, know the truth.” 

"He must have fallen and expired within ten minutes 
of leaving the house,” Beck exclaimed. "Yet when he 


A MYSTERY. 


25 


shook hands with us he was in the highest possible spirits. 
How terribly sudden his end was.” 

“Terrible!” I exclaimed, myself dazed by the pecu- 
liarly tragic and mysterious affair. “When he wished us 
adieu he could not have dreamed that his life had so 
nearly run its course.” 

“He complained of no pain during the evening, I sup- 
pose?” the doctor inquired. 

“Not to my knowledge,” Beck answered, and this 
statement I was compelled to endorse. 

“He dined here?” Dr. Allenby exclaimed, turning to 
Mrs. Laing. 

“Yes.” 

“There are some remains of the food left, I presume?” 

“No doubt,” she answered quickly. “But — but what 
do you suspect! Are the symptoms those of poisoning?” 
she gasped. 

“I suspect nothing,” replied the doctor, with hesitation. 
“The fact that the hands are tightly clenched suggests 
a final paroxysm of pain which might possibly accrue 
from poison. The remains of the dinner may be required 
for analysis, therefore it would be advisable to keep 
them.” 

“Very well,” she ansv^^ered, a shadow of annoyance 
upon her face. “I’ll give orders to that effect. But 
surely, doctor, you do not think poor Dudley can have 
been poisoned in my house? If anything we had for 
dinner had been deleterious, all of us must have suffered.” 

“No, pardon me for disagreeing,” he answered politely. 
“In many cases known to toxicologists, families have 
eaten of the same meal, and one person only has been 
seized with sudden illness that has proved fatal. By 
analysis we may obtain some clue as to the cause of Mr. 
Ogle’s unfortunate end.” 

Mrs. Laing’s thin lips moved, but no sound escaped 
them. At last, turning suddenly, she covered her face 
with her hands, as if to shut out from her gaze the white, 
haggard countenance she had so recently looked upon. 

“Come,” exclaimed the doctor, sympathetically, laying 
his hand upon her arm. “You are trembling. This un- 
fortunate occurrence , has no doubt upset you, but you 


26 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


must bear up. Immediately I get home I shall send you 
a draught that will brace up your nerves. Take care how 
the sad news is broken to Miss Ella. The slightest un- 
due excitement may affect her very seriously 

'T have not forgotten your words yesterday, doctor,” 
she replied. “You are very kind. Good-night!” 

They shook hands, and Dr. Allenby, taking up his hat, 
left — an example Beck and I soon afterwards followed, 
passing the night at the Angel Hotel. 

Throughout the dark, breathless hours sleep came not 
to my eyes, so full was my mind of the tragic discovery. 
As I lay awake, hour after hour, listening to the chiming 
bells, and watching the dawn struggling in between the 
curtains, I reflected deeply upon the strange events of 
that evening, and the more I pondered, the more mys- 
terious appeared the circumstances. Foremost in my 
mind was the strange, inviolable secret that I felt con- 
vinced existed between Ella and Beck. Although stren- 
uously denied by her, she had nevertheless admitted her 
unworthiness of my love. Yet I adored her. No woman 
had ever stirred my soul as she had; no woman had so 
completely held me under her spell. I remembered how 
she had seemed a trifle wan and distressed; yet that look 
enhanced rather than detracted from her refined beauty. 
Her steady refusal to enlighten me regarding the subject 
of her earnest conversation with Beck when I had 
watched them in the garden, and the significant glances 
she had exchanged with him across the dinner-table, had 
aroused within me a suspicion that, notwithstanding her 
declaration, she loved Beck. Again, the tone of her let- 
ter was, I now saw distinctly, such as a woman would 
write if she desired to break off her engagement. Yet 
had I not a right to demand full explanation of her extra- 
ordinary statement? had I not a right to seek the truth 
of her relations with this loud-spoken parvenu? Never- 
theless, as I pondered, I felt half inclined to believe that 
my estimate of Beck was a distorted one, for his regret 
at the death of Dudley, and his sympathy for Mrs. Laing 
were, I felt assured, deep, heartfelt and genuine. When 
at last I carefully analyzed my feelings towards him, I 


THE CLICK OF THE TELEGRAPH. 27 

was bound to admit within myself that jealousy was now 
the only cause of my bitter antipathy. 

Again, other incidents increased the mystery. Mrs. 
Laing’s dread that Ella should know of Dudley’s death 
was very curious, and her exclamations and inquiries of 
the doctor regarding his conjecture of poison seemed to 
point to the fact that she entertained certain suspicions, 
or was aware of certain facts. But 'after fully reviewing 
the tragic affair in all its phases, I arrived at the conclu- 
sion that Dr. Allenby did not anticipate for one moment 
finding poison at the post-mortem. On the contrary, from 
the words he had let drop, he undoubtedly believed death 
due to heart-disease. I could not, however, rid myself 
of a vague suspicion that Ella’s mother feared analysis 
of the remains of the dinner, and that the presence of the 
police unnerved her, as it invariably does those who are 
guilty. 

Until the sun shone out, casting a long bright beam 
across the dingy carpet, I pondered over these curious 
facts in their sequence, unable to elucidate the deep mys- 
tery underlying them. After a dismal, sleepless night, 
haunted by a nameless spectral fear, that ray of sunshine 
brought back hope and banished despair. I found my- 
self at last reflecting that, after all, Dudley had expired 
suddenly from a cause to which any of us might be liable, 
and it was probable that I had been scenting mystery and 
tragedy where there were none. 

I rose, and actually smiled at the weird and horrible 
nature of the thoughts that throughout the wearying 
night had held me spellbound in indescribable dread and 
terror. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE CLICK OF THE TELEGRAPH. 

When at noon, in accordance with the urgent and 
strangely-worded telegram I had received from the Earl 
of Warnham, I alighted at Horsham Station, in Sussex, 
I found one of the carriages from the Hall awaiting me. 


28 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


As I entered it, I was followed by a man I knew slightly, 
Superintendent Frayling, chief of the Criminal Investiga- 
tion Department at Scotland Yard, who had apparently 
traveled down by the same train from Victoria. 

Greeting me, he took the place beside me, and a mo- 
ment later the footman sprang upon the box and we sped 
away towards the open country. To my question as to 
his business with the Earl, he made an evasive reply, 
merely stating that he had received a telegram requesting 
an immediate interview. 

“This summons is rather unusual,’’ he added, smiling. 
“Has anything serious occurred, do you know?” 

“Not that I’m aAvare of. Perhaps there’s been a bur- 
glary at the Hall?” I suggested. 

“Hardly that, I think,” he replied, with a knowing look, 
stroking his pointed brown beard. “If burglars had visit- 
ed the place, he would have asked for a clever officer or 
two, not for a personal interview with me.” 

With this view I was compelled to agree, then, lighting 
cigarettes, we sat back calmly contemplating the beauti- 
ful, fertile country through which we were driving. The 
road, leaving the quaint old town, descended sharply for 
a short distance, then wound uphill through cornfields 
lined by high hedges of hawthorn and holly. On, past a 
quaint old water-mill we skirted Warnham Pond, where- 
on Shelley in his youthful days sailed paper boats, then 
half-a-mile further entered the handsome lodge-gates of 
Warnham Park. Through a fine avenue, with a broad 
sweep of park on either side well stocked with deer, 
emus and many zoological specimens, we ascended, until 
at last, after negotiating the long, winding drive in front 
of the Hall, the carriage pulled up with a sudden jerk be- 
fore its handsome portico. 

As I alighted, old Stanford, the white-haired butler, 
came forward hurriedly, saying, — 

“His Lordship is in the library awaiting you, sir. He 
told me to bring you to him the moment you arrived.” 

“Very well,” I said, and the aged retainer, leading the 
way along a spacious but rather cheerless corridor, 
stopped before the door of the great library, and throwing 
it suddenly open, announced me. 


THE CLICK OF THE TELEGRAPH. 


29 


‘‘At last, Deedes,” I heard the Earl exclaim in a tone 
that showed him to be in no amiable mood; and as I 
entered the long, handsome chamber, lined from floor 
to ceiling with books, I did not at first notice him until 
he rose slowly from a large writing-table, behind which 
he had been hidden. His face, usually wizened and 
pale, was absolutely bloodless. Its appearance startled 
me. 

“I wired you last night, and expected you by the 9.18 
this morning. Why did you not come?” was his first 
question, uttered in a sharp tone of annoyance. 

“The sudden death of a friend caused me to lose the 
train I intended to catch,” I explained. 

“Death!” he snapped, in the manner habitual to him 
when impatient. “Is the death of a friend any account 
when the interests of the country are at stake? On the 
night my wife was dying I was compelled to leave her 
bedside to travel to Balmoral to have audience of Her 
Majesty regarding a document I had sent for the Royal 
assent. When I returned. Lady Warnham had been 
dead fourteen hours. In the successful diplomat there 
must be no sentiment — none.” 

“The five minutes I lost when I discovered my friend 
dead caused me to miss my train from Staines to Lon- 
don,” I explained. 

“But you received my telegram, and should have 
strictly regarded its urgency,” he answered, with an air 
of extreme dissatisfaction. “The fact of its being in 
cipher was sufficient to show its importance.” 

“I was out dining, and my man brought it along to 
me,” I said. 

“Why did he do so?” he inquired quickly. 

“Because he thought it might be urgent.” 

“Did he open it?” 

“No. Even if he had it was in cipher.” 

“Is your man absolutely trustworthy?” he asked. 

“He has been in the service of my family for fifteen 
years. He was my father’s valet at The Hague.” 

“Is his name Juckes?” he inquired. 

“Yes.” 


30 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


"'Ah! I know him. He is absolutely trustworthy; a 
most excellent man.” 

The Earl’s manner surprised me. His face, usually 
calm, sphinx-like and expressionless, betrayed the most 
intense anxiety and suspicion. That my delay had 
caused him great annoyance was apparent, but the 
anxious expression upon his ashen, almost haggard face 
was such, that even in moments of extreme perplexity, 
when dealing with one or other of the many complex 
questions of foreign policy, it had never been so intense. 

Standing with his back to one of the great bay win- 
dows that commanded extensive views of the picturesque 
park, he was silent for a moment, then turning his keen, 
gray eyes upon me, he suddenly exclaimed, in a tone of 
extreme gravity, — 

'^Since yesterday, Deedes, a catastrophe has occurred.” 

“You briefly hinted at it in your telegram,” I answered. 
“What is its nature?” 

“The most serious that has happened during the whole 
of my administration,” he said in a voice that plainly 
betrayed his agitation. “The clauses of the secret defen- 
sive alliance which Hammerton brought from Berlin yes- 
terday are known in St. Petersburg.” 

“What!” I cried in alarm, remembering the Earl’s 
words, and his elaborate precautions to preserve its 
secrecy. Surely they cannot be already known?” 

“We have been tricked by spies, Deedes,” he an- 
swered sternly. “Read this,” and he handed me a tele- 
gram in the private cipher known only to the Minister 
himself. Its transcript was written beneath, and at a 
glance I saw it was from a Russian offlcial in the Foreign 
Office at St. Petersburg, who acted as our secret agent 
there and received a large sum yearly for his services. 
The dispatch, which showed that it had been handed in at 
Hamburg at six o’clock on the previous evening — all 
secret messages being sent in the first instance to that city 
— and re-transmitted — read as follows: — 

^'Greatest excitement caused here by receipt by tele- 
graph an hour ago of verbatim copy of secret defensive 
alliance between England and Germany. Have seen 


THE CLICK OF THE TELEGRAPH. 


31 


telegram, which was handed in at 369 Strand, London, at 
3.30. Just called at Embassy and informed Lord Strath- 
avon. Council of Ministers has been summoned.” 

“It is amazing,” I gasped, when I had read the dis- 
patch. “How could our enemies have learned the truth?” 

Without replying he took from his writing-table an- 
other message, which read: — 

“From Strathavon, St. Petersburg. To the Earl of 
Warnham, London. — Defensive alliance known here. 
Hostilities feared. French ambassador has had audience 
at Winter Palace, and telegraphed to Paris for instruc- 
tion. Shall wire hourly.” 

One by one he took up the telegraphic dispatches 
which, during the night, had been re-transmitted from 
the Foreign Office over the private wire to the instru- 
ment that stood upon a small table opposite us. As I 
read each of them eagerly, I saw plainly that Russia and 
France were in complete accord, and that we were on the 
verge of a national disaster, sudden and terrible. With 
such secrecy and rapidity were negotiations being carried 
on between Paris and St. Petersburg, that in Berlin, a 
city always well-informed in all matters of diplomacy, 
nothing unusual was suspected. 

A further telegram from our secret agent in the Rus- 
sian Foreign Office, received an hour before my arrival 
at Warnham, read: — 

“The secret is gradually leaking out. The Novosti 
has just issued a special edition hinting at the possibility 
of war with England, and this has caused the most in- 
tense excitement everywhere. The journal, evidently 
inspired, gives no authority for its statement, nor does 
it give any reason for the startling rumor.” 

I laid down the dispatch in silence, and as I raised my 
head the Minister’s keen, penetrating eyes met mine. 

“Well,” he exclaimed, in a dry, harsh tone. “What is 
your explanation, sir?” 


32 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“My explanation?” I cried, in amazement, noticing his 
determined demeanor. “I know nothing of the affair 
except the telegrams you have shown me.” 

“Upon you alone the responsibility of this catastrophe 
rests,” he said angrily. “It is useless to deny all knowl- 
edge of it, and only aggravates your offense. Because 
you come of a diplomatic family I have trusted you im- 
plicitly, but it is evident that my confidence has been ut- 
terly misplaced.” 

“I deny that I have ever, for a single instant, betrayed 
the trust you have placed in me,” I replied hotly. “I 
know nothing of the means by which the Tzar’s army of 
spies have obtained knowledge of our secret.” 

He snapped his bony fingers impatiently, saying, — 

“It is not to be expected that you will acknowledge 
yourself a traitor to your country, sir; therefore we must 
prove your guilt.” 

“You are at liberty, of course, to act in what manner 
you please,” I answered. “I tell you frankly, however, 
that this terrible charge you bring against me is as start- 
ling as the information I have just read. I can only say 
I am entirely innocent.” 

“Bah!” he cried, turning on his heel with a gesture 
of disgust. Then, facing me again, his eyes flashing 
with anger, he added, “If you are innocent, tell me why 
you were so long absent yesterday when registering the 
dispatch ; tell me why, when such an important document 
was in your possession, you did not remain in the office 
instead of being absent over an hour?” 

“I went out to lunch,” I said. 

“With the document in your pocket?” 

“Yes. But surely you do not suspect me of being a 
spy?” I cried. 

“I do not suspect you, sir. I have positive proof of it.” 
- “Proof!” I gasped. “Show it to me.” 

“It is here,” he answered, his thin, nervous hands turn- 
ing over the mass of papers littering his writing-table, 
and taking from among them an official envelope. In 
an instant I recognized it as the one containing the 
treaty. 


THE CLICK OF THE TELEGRAPH. 33 

‘This remains exactly as I took it from the safe with 
my own hands and cut it open.” 

With trembling fingers I drew the document from its 
envelope and opened it. 

The paper was blank! 

I glanced at him in abject dismay, unable to utter a 
word. 

“That is what you handed me on my return from the 
Cabinet-Council,” he said, with knit brows. “Now, 
what explanation have you to offer?” 

“What can I offer?” I cried. “The envelope I gave 
you was the same that you handed to me. I could swear 
to it.” 

“No, it was not,” he replied quickly. “Glance at the 
seal.” 

Taking it to the light I examined the seal carefully, but 
failed to detect anything unusual. It bore in black wax 
the W arnham coat of arms impressed by the large, beau- 
tifully-cut amethyst which the Earl wore attached to 
the piece of rusty silk ribbon that served him as watch 
chain. 

“I can see nothing wrong with this,” I said, glancing 
up at him. 

“I admit that the imitation is so carefully executed that 
it is calculated to deceive any eye except my own.” Then, 
putting on his pince-nez, he made an impression in wax 
with his own seal and pointed out a slight flaw which, in 
the impression upon the envelope, did not exist. 

“And your endorsement. Is it not in your own hand?” 
he inquired. 

I turned over the envelope and looked. It bore the 
designation “327,893,” just as I had written it, and the 
writing was either my own or such a marvelously accu- 
rate imitation that I was compelled to confess my in- 
ability to point out any discrepancy. 

“Then the writing is yours, eh?” the Earl asked abrupt- 
ly. “If it is, you must be aware who forged the seal.” 

“The writing certainly contains all the characteristics 
of mine, but I am not absolutely sure it is not a forgery. 
In any case I am confident that the document you gave 
me I handed back to you.” Then I explained carefully, 
3 


34 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


and in detail, the events which occurred from the time 
he gave the treaty into my possession, up to the moment I 
handed it back to him. 

“But how can you account for giving back to me a 
blank sheet of paper in an envelope secured by a forged 
seal?” he asked, regarding me with undisguised suspicion. 
“You do not admit even* taking it from your pocket, 
neither have you any suspicion of the friend with whom 
you lunched. I should like to hear his independent ver- 
sion.” 

“That is impossible,” I answered. 

‘^Why?” he asked, pricking up his ears and scenting 
a mystery. 

“Because he is dead.” 

At that moment our conversation was interrupted by 
the sharp ringing of the bell of the telegraph instrument 
near us, and an instant later the telegraphist in charge en- 
tered, and seated himself at the table. 

Click, click, click — click — click began the needle, and 
next moment the clerk, turning to the Earl, exclaimed, — 

“An important message from St. Petersburg, your 
Lordship.” 

“Read it as it comes through,” the Earl replied breath- 
lessly, walking towards the instrument and bending 
eagerly over it. 

Then, as the rapid metallic click again broke the 
silence, the clerk, in monotonous tones, exclaimed, — 

“Erom Lobetski, St. Petersburg, via Hamburg. To 
Earl of Warnham. — A proclamation signed by the Tzar 
declaring war against England has just been received at 
the Foreign Office, but it is as yet kept secret. It will 
probably be posted in the streets this evening. Greatest 
activity prevails at the War Office and Admiralty. Regi- 
ments in the military districts of Charkoff, Odessa, War- 
saw and Kieff have received orders to complete their 
cadres of officers to war strength, recalling to the colors 
all officers on the retired list and on leave. This is a 
preliminary step to the complete mobilization of the 
Russian forces. All cipher messages now refused.” 


LORD WARNHAM’S ADMISSION. 


35 


The Earl, with frantic effort, grasped at the edge of 
the table, then staggered unevenly, and sank back into a 
chair, rigid and speechless. 


CHAPTER V. 

LORD WARNHAM’S ADMISSION. 

‘‘Anything further?” inquired the great statesman in a 
low, mechanical tone, his gaze fixed straight before him 
as he sat. 

“Nothing further, your Lordship,” answered the teleg- 
raphist. 

The Earl of Warnham sighed deeply, his thin hands 
twitching with a nervous excitement he strove in vain to 
suppress. 

“Ask if Lord Maybury is in town,” he said hoarsely, 
suddenly rousing himself. 

Again the instrument clicked, and a few moments later 
the telegraphist, turning to the Foreign Minister, said, — 

“The Premier is in town, your Lordship.” 

The Earl glanced at his watch a few seconds in silence, 
then exclaimed, — 

“Tell Gaysford to inform Lord Maybury at once of the 
contents of this last dispatch from St. Petersburg, and 
say that I will meet the Premier at 5.30 at the Foreign 
Office.” 

The telegraphist touched the key, and in a few moments 
the Minister’s orders were obeyed. Then, taking a sheet 
of note-paper and a pencil, he wrote in a private cipher a 
telegram, which he addressed to Her Majesty at Osborne. 
This, too, the clerk dispatched at once over the wire, 
followed by urgent messages to members of the Cabinet 
Council and to Lord Kingsbury, Commander-in-Chief 
of the British Army, asking them to meet informally at 
six o’clock that evening at the Foreign Office. 

When all these messages had been transmitted with a 
rapidity that was astonishing, the telegraphist turned in 
his chair and asked, — 


36 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


‘'Anything more, your Lordship?” 

“Nothing for the present,” he answered. “Leave us.” 

Then, when he had gone, the Earl rose slowly, and 
with bent head, and hands clasped behind his back, he 
strode up and down the library in silent contemplation. 
Suddenly he halted before me where I stood, and abrupt- 
ly asked, — 

“What did you say was the name of that friend who 
lunched with you yesterday?” 

“Ogle,” I answered. “Dudley Ogle.” 

“And his profession?” 

“He had none. His father left him with enough to 
live upon comfortably.” 

“Who was his father?” he inquired, with a sharp look 
of doubt. 

“A landowner.” 

“Where?” 

“I don’t know.” 

The Earl slightly raised his shaggy gray brows, then 
continued, — 

“How long have you known this friend?” 

“Several years.” 

“You told me that he has died since yesterday,” his 
Lordship said. “Is not that a rather curious fact — if 
true?” 

“True!” I cried. “You apparently doubt me. A tele- 
gram to the police at Staines will confirm my statement.” 

“Yes, I never disguise my doubts, Deedes,” the Earl 
snapped, fixing his gray eyes upon mine. “I suspect 
very strongly that you have sold the secret to our en- 
emies; you have, to put it plainly, betrayed your coun- 
try.” 

“I deny it!” I replied, with fierce anger. “I care not 
for any of your alleged proofs. True, the man who was 
with me during the whole time I was absent is dead. 
Nevertheless I am prepared to meet and refute all the 
accusations you may bring against me.” 

“Well, we shall see. We shall see,” he answered dryly, 
snapping his fingers, and again commencing to pace 
the great library from end to end with steps a trifle more 
hurried than before. “We have — nay, I personally have 


LORD WARNHAM’S ADMISSION. 


37 


— been the victim of dastardly spies, but I will not rest 
until I clear up the mystery and bring upon the guilty 
one the punishment he deserves. Think,” he cried. 
^‘Think what this means! England’s prestige is ruined, 
her power is challenged; and ere long the great armies 
of Russia and France will be swarming upon our shores. 
In the fights at sea and the fights on land with modern 
armaments the results must be too terrible to contem- 
plate. The disaster that we must face will, I fear, be 
crushing and complete. I am not, I have never been, 
one of those over-confident idiots who believe our island 
impregnable; but am old-fashioned enough to incline to- 
wards Napoleon’s opinion. We are apt to rely upon our 
naval strength, a strength that may, or may not, be up to 
the standard of power we believe. If it is a rotten reed, 
what remains? England must be trodden beneath the iron 
heel of the invader, and the Russian eagle will float be- 
side the tricolor in Whitehall.” 

“But can diplomacy do nothing to avert the catastro- 
phe?” I suggested. 

“Not when it is defeated by the devilish machinations 
of spies,” he replied meaningly, flashing a glance at me, 
the fierceness of which I did not fail to observe. 

“But Russia dare not take the initiative,” I blurted 
forth. 

“Permit me, sir, to express my own opinion upon our 
relations with St. Petersburg,” he roared. “I tell you 
that for years Russia has held herself in readiness to at- 
tack us at the moment when she received sufficient prov- 
ocation, and for that very object she contracted an alli- 
ance with France. The Tzar’s recent visit to England 
was a mere farce to disarm suspicion, a proceeding in 
which, thank Heaven! I refused to play any part what- 
ever. The blow that I have long anticipated, and have 
sought to ward off all these long years of my administra- 
tion as Premier and as Foreign Secretary, has fallen. 
To-day is the most sorry day that England has ever 
known. The death-knell of her power is ringing,” and he 
walked down the room towards me, pale-faced and bent, 
his countenance wearing an expression of unutterable 
gloominess. He was, I knew, a patriot who would have 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


38 

sacrificed his life for his country’s honor, and every word 
he had uttered came straight from his heart. 

“How the secret agents of the Tzar obtained knowl- 
edge of the treaty surpasses comprehension,” I exclaimed. 

“The catastrophe is due to you — to you alone!” he 
cried. “You knew of what vital importance to our honor 
it was that the contents of that document should be kept 
absolutely secret. I told you with my own lips. You 
have no excuse whatever — none. Your conduct is cul- 
pable in the highest degree, and you deserve, sir, instant 
dismissal and the publication in the ‘Gazette’ of a state- 
ment that you have been discharged from Her Majesty’s 
service because you were a thief and a spy!” 

“I am neither,” I shouted in a frenzy of rage, inter- 
rupting him. “If you were a younger man. I’d — by 
Heaven! I’d knock you down. But I respect your age. 
Lord Warnham, and I am not forgetful of the fact that 
to you I owe more than I can ever repay. My family 
have faithfully served their country through generations, 
and I will never allow a false accusation to be brought 
upon it, even though you. Her Majesty’s Foreign Sec- 
retary, may choose to make it.” 

He halted, glancing at me with an expression of un- 
feigned surprise. 

“You forget yourself, sir,” he answered, with that calm, 
unruffled dignity that he could assume at will. “I repeat 
my accusation, and it is for you to refute it.” 

“I can! I will!” I cried. 

“Then explain the reason you handed me a sheet of 
blank paper in exchange for the instrument.” 

“I cannot, I—” 

He laughed a hard, cynical laugh, and turning upon 
his heel, paced towards the opposite window. 

“All I know is that the envelope I gave you was the 
same that you handed to me,” I protested. 

“It’s a deliberate lie,” he cried, as he turned in anger to 
face me again. “I opened the dispatch, read it through 
to ascertain there was no mistake, and, after sealing 
it with my own hands, gave it to you. Yet, in return, 
you hand me this!” and he took from the table the in- 
geniously forged duplicate envelope and held it up. 


LORD WARNHAM’S ADMISSION. 


39 


Then casting it down against passionately, he added, — 

“The document I handed to you was exchanged for 
that dummy, and an hour later the whole thing was tele- 
graphed in extenso to Russia. The original was in your 
possession, and even if you are not actually in the pay of 
our enemies, you were so negligent of your duty towards 
your Queen and country that you are undeserving the 
name of Englishman.” 

“But does not London swarm with Russian agents?” 
I said. “Have we not had ample evidence of that lately?” 

“I admit it,” he answered. “But what proof is there 
to show that you yourself did not hand the original docu- 
ment to one of these enterprising gentlemen who take 
such a keen interest in our affairs?” 

“There is no proof that I am a spy,” I cried hotly. 
“There never will be; for I am entirely innocent of this 
disgraceful charge. You overlook the fact that after it 
had been deposited in the safe it may have been tam- 
pered with.” 

“I have overlooked no detail,” he answered, with calm- 
ness. “Your suggestion is an admirable form of excuse, 
but, unfortunately for you, it will not hold water. First, 
because, as you must be aware, there is but one key to 
that safe, and that never leaves my person; secondly, no 
one but you and I are possessed of the secret whereby the 
safe may be opened or closed; thirdly, the packet you 
gave me did not remain in the safe. In order that you 
should believe that the document was deposited there, I 
put it in in your presence, but when you left my room I 
took it out again, and carried it home with me to Berke- 
ley Square, intending to show it to Lord Maybury. The 
Premier did not call as he had promised, but I kept the 
document in my pocket the whole time, and at six o’clock 
returned to the Foreign Office and deposited it again in 
the safe. Almost next moment — I had not left the room, 
remember — some thought prompted me to reopen the en- 
velope and reassure myself of the wording of one of the 
clauses. Walking to the safe, I took out the envelope 
and cut it open, only to discover that I had been tricked. 
The paper was blank!” 

“It might have been stolen while in your possession 


40 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


just as easily as while in mine!” I exclaimed, experienc- 
ing some satisfaction at being thus able to turn his own 
argument against himself. 

“Knowing its vital importance, I took the most elab- 
orate precautions that such circumstances were rendered 
absolutely impossible.” 

“From your words, when Hammerton arrived from 
Berlin, it was plain that you suspected treachery. On 
what ground were your suspicions founded?” 

Upon his sphinx-like face there rested a heavy frown 
of displeasure as he replied, — 

“I refuse to submit to any cross-examination, sir. That 
I entertained certain suspicions is enough.” 

“And you actually accuse me without the slightest 
foundation?” I cried with warmth. 

“You are in error,” he retorted very calmly, returning 
to his writing table and taking up some papers. “I have 
here the original of the telegram handed in at the branch 
post-office in the Strand yesterday afternoon.” 

“Well?” 

^Tt has been examined by the caligraphic expert em- 
ployed by the police, and declared to be in your hand- 
writing.” 

“What?” I gasped, almost snatching the yellow tele- 
graph form from his hand in my eagerness to examine 
the mysterious jumble of letters and figures composing 
the cipher. My heart sank within me when next instant 
I recognized they were in a hand so nearly resembling 
my own that I could scarcely detect any difference what- 
ever. 

As I stood gazing at this marvelous forgery, open- 
mouthed in abject dismay, there broke upon my ear a 
short, harsh laugh — a laugh of triumph. 

Raising my head, the Earl’s penetrating gaze met mine. 
“Now,” he exclaimed, “come, acknowledge the truth. It 
is useless to prevaricate.” 

“I have told the truth,” I answered. “I never wrote 
this.” 

For an instant his steely eyes flashed as his blanched 
face assumed an expression of unutterable hatred and dis- 
gust. Then he shouted, — 


THE VEIL. 


41 


"'You are a thief, a spy and a liar, sir! Leave me in- 
stantly. Even in the face of such evidence as this you 
protest innocence with childish simplicity. You have 
betrayed your country into the hands of her enemies, and 
are, even now, seeking to throw blame and suspicion 
upon myself. You — ” 

“I have not done so. I merely suggested that the 
document might have been exchanged while in your pos- 
session. Surely — ” 

“And you actually come to me with a lame, absurd tale 
that the only man who can clear you is dead 1 The whole 
defense is too absurd,” he thundered. “You have sold 
your country’s honor and the lives of your fellow-men 
for Russian roubles. Go! Never let me see you again, 
except in a felon’s dock.” 

“But surely I may be permitted to clear myself?” I 
cried. 

“Your masters in St. Petersburg will no doubt arrange 
for your future. In London we require your faithless 
services no longer,” the Earl answered, with intense bit- 
terness. “Go!” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE VEIL. 

Leaving the Earl’s presence, I refused old Stanford’s 
invitation to take some refreshment, and, walking along 
the corridor on my way out, came face to face with Fray- 
ling, who was being conducted to the library. 

“Going?” he inquired. 

“Yes,” I answered, and passing on, engrossed in bit- 
ter thoughts that overwhelmed me, strode out into the 
park, wandering aimlessly across the grass to where a 
well-kept footpath wound away among the trees. Tak- 
ing it, heedless of my destination, I walked on mechan- 
ically, regardless of the brilliant sunshine and the songs 
of the birds, thinking only of the unjust accusation 


42 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


against me, and of my inability to clear myself. I saw 
that the stigma upon me meant ruin, both social and 
financial. Branded as a spy, I should be spurned by 
Ella, sneered at by Mrs. Laing, and avoided by Beck. 
Friends who had trusted me would no longer place any 
confidence in a man who had, according to their belief, 
sold his country into the hands of her enemies, while it 
was apparent from the Earl’s words that he had no fur- 
ther faith in my actions. 

Yet the only man who could have cleared me, who 
could have corroborated my statement as to how I spent 
my time during my absence at lunch, and shown plainly 
that I had never entered the Strang nor visited the branch 
post-office next to Exeter Hall, was dead. His lips were 
forever sealed. 

I went forward, plunged deeply in thought, until pass- 
ing a small gate I left the park, and found myself in 
Warnham Churchyard. For a moment I stood on the 
peaceful spot where I had often stood before, admiring 
the quaint old church, with its square, squat, ivy-covered 
tower, its gilded clock face, and its ancient doors that, 
standing open, admitted air and sunshine. Before me 
were the plain, white tombs of the departed earls, the 
most recent being that in memory of the Countess, one of 
the leaders of London society, who had died during her 
husband’s absence on his official duties; while across the 
well-kept lawn stood a quaint old sun-dial that had in 
silence marked the time for a century or so. From with- 
in the church the organ sounded softly, and I could see 
the Vicar’s daughter, a pretty girl still in her teens, seated 
at the instrument practicing. 

Warnham was a quiet Sussex village unknown to the 
world outside, unspoiled by modern progress, untouched 
by the hand of the vandal. As presently I passed the 
lych-gate and entered its peaceful street, it wore a dis- 
tinctly old-world air. At the end of the churchyard wall 
stood the typical village blacksmith, brown-faced and 
brawny, swinging his hammer with musical clang upon 
his anvil set beneath a great chestnut tree in full bloom ; 
further along stood the schools, from the playground of 
which came the joyous sound of children’s voices; and 


THE VEIL. 


43 


across the road was the only inn — the Sussex Arms — 
where, on more than one occasion, I had spent an hour 
in the bare and beery tap-room, chatting with the garru- 
lous village gossips, the burly landlord and his pleasant 
spouse. The air was heavy with the scent of June roses 
and the old-fashioned flowers growing in cottage gar- 
dens, whilst the lilacs sent forth a perfume that in my per- 
turbed state of mind brought me back to a realization of 
my bitterness. Lilac was Ella’s favorite scent, and it 
stirred within me thoughts of her. How, I wondered, 
had she borne the news of Dudley’s tragic and mysterious 
end? How, I wondered, would she greet me when next 
we met? 

Yet somehow I distrusted her, and as I walked on 
through the village towards the Ockley road, nodding 
mechanically to a man I knew, I was seriously contem- 
plating the advisability of never again seeing her. But 
I loved her, and though I strove to reason with myself 
that some secret tie existed between her and Beck, I 
found myself unable to break off my engagement, for I 
was held in her toils by the fascination of her eyes. 

For fully an hour I walked on, ascending the hill swept 
by the fresh breeze from the Channel only turning back 
on flnding myself at the little hamlet at Kingsfold. In 
that walk I tried to form resolutions — to devise some 
means to regain the confidence of the Earl, and to con- 
jecture the cause of Dudley’s death — but all to no pur- 
pose. The blows which had fallen in such swift succes- 
sion had paralyzed me. I could not think, neither could 
I act. 

Re-passing the Sussex Arms, I turned in, dusty and 
thirsty. In the bare tap-room, deserted at that hour, old 
Denman, a tall, tight-trousered, splay-footed, gray-haired 
man, who drove the village fly, and acted as ostler and 
handy man about the hostelry, was busy cleaning some 
pewters, and as I entered, looked up and touched his hat. 

'‘Well, Denman,” I said, "you don’t seem to grow 
very much older, eh?” 

The man, whose hair and beard were closely cropped, 
and whose furrowed face had a habit of twitching when 
he spoke, grinned as he answered, — 


44 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“No, sir. People tells me I bear my age wonderful 
well. But won’t you come into the parlor, sir?” 

Declining, I told him to get me something to drink, 
and when he brought it questioned him as to the latest 
news in the village. Denman was an inveterate gossip, 
and in his constant drives in the rickety and antiquated 
vehicle known as “the fly,” to villages and towns in the 
vicinity, had a knack of picking up all the news and scan- 
dal, which he retailed at night for the delectation of cus- 
tomers at the Sussex Arms. 

“I dunno as anything very startling has happened 
lately in Warnham. The jumble sale came off at the 
schools last Tuesday fortnight, and there’s a cricket 
match up at the Lodge next Saturday. Some gentlemen 
are coming down from London to play.” 

“Anything else?” 

Denman removed his hat and scratched his head. 

“Oh, yes,” he said suddenly. “You knows Mr. Mac- 
andrew what’s steward for Mr. Thornbury? Well, last 
Monday week an old gentleman called at his house up 
street and asked to see him. His wife asked him into the 
parlor, and Mr. Macandrew went in. ‘Are you Mr. 
Macandrew?’ says the old gent. T am,’ says Mr. Mac- 
andrew. ‘Well, I shouldn’t ’ave known you,’ says the 
old man. And it turned out afterwards that this old man 
was actually Mr. Macandrew’s father, who’s lived ever so 
many years in America, and hasn’t seen Mr. Macandrew 
since he wor a boy. I did laugh when I heeard it.” 

“Extraordinary. Have you had any visitors down 
from London?” I inquired, for sometimes people took 
the houses of the better-class villagers, furnished for the 
season. 

“We had a lively young gent staying here in the inn 
for four days last week. He was a friend of somebody 
up at the Hall, I think, for he was there a good deal. He 
came from London. I wonder whether you’d know 
him.” 

“What was his name?” 

“Funny name,” Denman said, grinning. “Ogle, Mr. 
Ogle.” 

“Ogle!” I gasped. “What was his Christian name?” 


THE VEIL. 


45 


“Dudley, I fancy it was.” 

“Dudley Ogle,” I repeated, remembering that he had 
been absent from Shepperton for four days, and had told 
me he had been in Ipswich visiting some friends. “And 
he has been here?” 

“Yes, sir. We made him as comfortable as we could, 
and I think he enjoyed hisself.” 

“But what did he do — why was he down here?” I 
inquired eagerly. 

“Do you know him, sir? Jolly gentleman, isn’t he? 
Up to all manner o’ tricks, and always chaffing the girls.” 

“Yes, I knew him, Denman,” I answered gravely. 
“Tell me, as far as you know, his object in coming to 
Warnham. I’m very interested in his doings.” 

“As far as I know, sir, he came to see somebody up at 
the Hall. I drove him about a good deal, over to Ock- 
ley, to Cowfold, and out to Handcross; and I took him 
into Horsham every day.” 

“Do you know who was his friend at the Hall?” 

“No, I don’t, sir. He never spoke about it; but I did 
have my suspicions,” he answered, smiling. 

“Oh! what were they?” I asked. 

“I fancy he came to see Lucy Bryden, the housekeep- 
er’s daughter. She’s a good-looking girl, you know,” 
and the old man winked knowingly. 

“What made you think that, eh?” 

“Well, from something I was told,” he replied mysteri- 
ously. “He was seen walking with a young lady across 
the park one night, and I ’eard as ’ow it was Mrs. Dry- 
den’s daughter. But next day I ’ad a surprise. A young 
lady called here for him, and she was dressed exactly as 
the young woman who had been in the park with him 
was. But it wasn’t Mrs. Bryden’s daughter.” 

“Then who was it?” 

“I heard him call her Ella. She came from London.” 

‘^Ella?” I gasped. “What the deuce do you mean, 
Denman? What sort of a girl was she? A lady?” 

“Yes, sir, quite a lady. She was dressed in brown, 
and one thing I noticed was that she had on a splendid 
diamond bracelet. It was a beauty.” 

“A diamond bracelet!” I echoed. There was no doubt 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


46 

that Ella had actually been to Warnham without my 
knowledge, for the bracelet that the old ostler, in reply 
to my eager questions, described accurately, was the one 
I had given her. 

“What time in the day did she call? Where did they 
go?” I demanded, in surprise. 

“She came about mid-day, and they both went for a 
walk towards Broadbridge Heath. They were gone, I 
should reckon, about three hours,, and when they re- 
turned, it was evident from her eyes that she’d been 
crying.” 

“Crying! Had Ogle been talking to her angrily, do 
you think?” 

“No. I don’t believe so. They remained here and 
had some tea together in the parlor, and then I drove ’em 
to Horsham, and they caught the 6.25 to London.” 

I was silent. There was some remarkable, unfathom- 
able mystery in this. 

“Now, Denman,” I said at last, “I know you’ve got a 
sharp pair of ears when you’re perched up on that box of 
yours. Did you overhear their conversation while driv- 
ing them to Horsham?” 

Again the old man removed his battered hat and calm- 
ly scratched his head. 

“Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I did ’ear a few words,” 
he answered. “I ’eard the young lady say as ’ow she wor 
powerless. He seemed to be a-begging of her to do 
something which horrified her. I ’eard her ask him in a 
whisper whether he thought they would be discovered, 
and he laughed at her fear, and said, Tf you don’t do it, 
you know the consequences will be fatal.’ ” 

“Do you think they went up to the Hall when they 
went out walking?” 

“I don’t know, sir. They could, of course, have got 
into the park that way. But you don’t look very well, 
sir. I hope what I’ve told you isn’t — isn’t very unpleas- 
ant,” the old ostler added, with a look of apprehension. 

“No. Get some brandy, Denman,” I gasped. 

While he was absent I rose and walked unsteadily to 
the window that overlooked a comfortable-looking cor- 
ner residence surrounded by a belt of firs, a wide road. 


THE VEIL. 


47 


and a beautiful stretch of valley and blue downs beyond. 
The landscape was peaceful and picturesque, and I sought 
solace in gazing upon it. But this latest revelation had 
unnerved me. Dudley and Ella had met in that quiet, 
rural place for some purpose which I could not conceive. 
Their meeting had evidently been prearranged, and their 
object, from the words the old man had overheard, was 
apparently of a secret and sinister character. 

The strange, inquiring look I had detected in Ella’s 
face whenever she had glanced surreptitiously at Dudley 
on the previous night was, I now felt assured, an index 
of guilty conscience; and Mrs. Laing’s dread that Ella 
should know the truth of my friend’s tragic end appeared 
to prove, in a certain degree, the existence of some secret 
knowledge Jield by all three. 

Yet I could not bring myself to believe that my well- 
beloved had wilfully deceived me. From what Den- 
man had said, it appeared as if Ogle had held her under 
some mysterious thrall, and was trying to compel her to 
act against her better judgment. Her pure, womanly 
conscience had, perhaps, revolted against his suggestion, 
and she had shed the tears the old ostler had noticed; yet 
he had persisted and held over her a threat that had 
cowed her, and, perhaps, for aught I knew, compelled her 
to submit. 

My thought that the man who was my friend should 
have thus treated the woman I adored filled me with 
fiercest anger and hatred. With bitterness I told myself 
that the man in whom I placed implicit confidence, and 
with whom I had allowed Ella to spend many idle hours 
punting or sculling while I was absent at my duties in 
London, was actually my enemy. 

With sudden resolve I determined to travel back to 
Staines and, by possession of the knowledge of her 
mysterious visit to that village, worm from her its ob- 
ject. At that moment Denman entered, and I drank the 
brandy at one gulp, afterwards ordering the fly and 
driving back to Horsham station, whence I returned to 
London. 

At my flat in Rossetti Mansions, Chelsea, I found a 
telegram from the Staines police summoning me to the 


48 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


inquest to be held next morning at eleven o’clock, and 
also one from Ella asking me to return. The latter I felt 
inclined to disregard; the former I could not. Her words 
and actions were, indeed, beyond comprehension, but in 
the light of this knowledge I had by mere chance ac- 
quired, it seemed plain that her declaration of her un- 
worthiness of my love was something more than the nat- 
ural outcome of highly-strung nerves and a romantic dis- 
position. Women of certain temperaments are prone to 
self-accusation, and I had brought myself to believe her 
words to be mere hysterical utterances; but now, alas! 
I saw there was some deep motive underlying them. I 
had been tricked. I had, it seemed, been unduly jealous 
of Beck, and unsuspecting of my real enemy, the man 
whose lips were closed in death. 

I now regretted his end, not as a friend regrets, but 
merely because no effort would be availing to compel his 
lying tongue to speak the truth. Yet, if he were my rival 
for Ella’s hand, might he not have lied when questioned 
regarding the events of that fateful afternoon when the 
secret defensive alliance had been so mysteriously ex- 
changed for a dummy? Jealousy knows neither limit nor 
remorse. 

Next morning, after spending the greater part of the 
night sitting alone smoking and endeavoring to penetrate 
the ever-increasing veil of mystery that had apparently 
enveloped her, I traveled down to Staines, arriving there 
just in time to take a cab to the Town Hall, where the 
inquest was to be held. The town was agog, for a crowd 
of those unable to enter because the room was already 
filled to overflowing, stood in the open space outside, 
eagerly discussing the tragic affair in all its various as- 
pects, and hazarding the wildest and most impossible 
theories. Entering the hall, I elbowed my way forward, 
and as I did so I heard my name shouted loudly by a 
police constable. I was required as a witness, and suc- 
ceeded in struggling through to the baize-covered table 
whereat the grave-faced Coroner sat. 

He stretched forth his hand to give me the copy of 
Holy Writ whereon to take the oath, when suddenly my 
eyes fell upon a watch and a collection of miscellaneous 


ELLA’S SUSPICIONS. 49 

articles lying upon the table, the contents of the dead 
man’s pockets. 

One small object alone riveted my attention. Heed- 
less of the Coroner’s words I snatched it up and examined 
it closely. 

Next second I stood breathless and aghast, dumb- 
founded by an amazing discovery that staggered belief. 


CHAPTER VH. 

ELLA’S SUSPICIONS. 

The formula of the oath fell upon my ears in a dull 
monotone, as mechanically I raised the Bible to my lips, 
afterwards replying to the Coroner’s formal questions re- 
garding my name, address and occupation. The dis- 
covery I had made filled me with fierce, bitter hatred 
against my dead companion, and, dazed by the startling 
suddenness of the revelation, I stood like a man in a 
dream. 

Dr. Diplock, the Coroner, noticed it, and his sharp 
injunction to answer his question brought me back to a 
knowledge of my surroundings. I was standing in full 
view of an assembly of some three hundred persons, so 
filled by curiosity, and eager to hear my story, that the 
silence was complete. 

‘T beg your pardon, but I did not hear the question,” 
I said, bracing myself with effort. 

“The deceased was your friend, I believe?” 

^‘Yes,” I answered. “He shared a furnished cottage 
with me at Shepperton. I have known him for some 
time.” 

“Were you with him at the day of his death?” 

“I left him at Shepperton in the morning, when I went 
to town, and he called upon me at the Foreign Office 
about one o’clock. We lunched together, and then, re- 
turning to Downing Street, parted. We met again at 
Shepperton later, and came here, to Staines, in response 
to an invitation to dinner at ‘The Nook.’ I — ” 


50 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


A woman’s low, despairing cry broke the silence, and 
as I turned to the assembly I saw, straight before me, 
Ella, rigid, almost statuesque. Her terror-stricken gaze 
met mine; her eyes seemed riveted upon me. 

“Kindly proceed with your evidence,” exclaimed the 
Coroner, impatiently. 

“We dined at The Nook,’ ” I went on, turning again 
to face him. “Then we went for a row, and on our re- 
turn Mr. Ogle left us to walk back to Shepperton.” 

“Alone?” 

^Wes.” 

“Why did you not accompany him?” 

“Because I had, during the evening, received a tele- 
gram summoning me away.” 

“Who was the message from?” 

“The Earl of Warnham,” I replied. Then obeying his 
request to continue, I explained how, on leaving “The 
Nook” about an hour later to catch my last train, I had 
stumbled upon the body of my friend. 

Then, when I had concluded, the Coroner commenced 
his cross-examination. Many of his questions were 
purely formal in character, but presently, when he began 
to take me through the events which occurred at the For- 
eign Office, I experienced a very uncomfortable feeling, 
fearing lest I should divulge the suspicions that had dur- 
ing the last half-hour been aroused within me. It was, I 
recognized, absolutely necessary that I should keep my 
discovery a strict secret, for upon my ability to do so 
everything depended. 

“Was there any reason why he should call for you at 
the Foreign Office and ask you to lunch with him? Was 
he in the habit of doing this?” inquired the Coroner. 

“No ; there seemed no reason, beyond the fact that he 
was compelled to come to town, and merely wanted to 
pass an idle hour away,” I said. 

“Why did he go to London?” 

“I have no idea what business took him there.” 

“He never told you that he had any enemy, I suppose?” 
the official asked, with an air of mystery. 

“Never. He was, on the contrary, most popular.” 

“And no incident other than what you have related 


ELLA’S SUSPICIONS. 5^ 

occurred at the Foreign Office? You are quite certain 
of this?’^ 

For a moment I hesitated, half inclined to relate the 
whole story of the mysterious theft of the secret conven- 
tion; but risking perjury rather than an exposure of 
facts that I saw must remain hidden, I answered as calmly 
as I could, — 

“No other incident occurred.’’ 

“Have you any reason to suspect that he was a victim 
of foul play?” the Coroner continued, looking at me 
rather suspiciously, I thought. 

At that moment I glanced at Ella, and was astounded 
to see how intensely excited she appeared, with her white 
face upturned, her mouth half open, her eyes staring, 
eagerly drinking in every word that fell from my lips. 
Her whole attitude was of one who dreaded that some 
terrible truth might be brought to light. 

“I have no reason to suspect he was murdered,” I 
answered in a low tone, and as I surreptitiously watched 
the face of the woman I loved I saw an instant trans- 
formation. Her breast heaved with a heavy sigh of re- 
lief as across her countenance there passed a look of sat- 
isfaction she was unable to disguise. She was in deadly 
fear of something, the nature of which I could not con- 
jecture. 

“You have no suspicion whatever that the deceased 
had an enemy?” asked the foreman of the jury, who had 
the appearance of a local butcher. 

“None whatever,” I answered. 

“I frequently saw Mr. Ogle on the river of an after- 
noon with Miss Laing,” the man observed. “Was there, 
as far as you are aware, any affection between them?” 

Glancing at Ella, I saw she had turned even paler than 
before, and was trembling. The question nonplussed 
me. In my heart I strongly suspected that some attach- 
ment existed between them; but resenting this imperti- 
nent question from a man who struck me as a local busy- 
body, I made a negative reply. 

“Then jealousy, it would appear, was not the cause of 
the crime,” the foreman observed to his fellow-jury- 
men. 


52 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


The Coroner, however, quickly corrected him, pointing 
out that they had not yet ascertained whether death had, 
or had not, been due to natural causes. 

Turning to me, he said, — 

“I believe I am right in assuming that you are engaged 
to be married to Miss Laing, am I not?” 

‘T was engaged to her,” I replied hoarsely. 

‘‘Then you are not engaged at the present moment? 
Why was the match broken off?” 

I hesitated for several moments, trying to devise some 
means to avoid answering this abrupt question. The bit- 
ter thought of Ella’s double dealing occurred to me, and 
with foolish disregard for consequences I resolved not 
to spare her. 

“Because of a confession she made to me,” I said. 

“A confession! What of?” 

“Of unworthiness.” 

“She acknowledged herself unfaithful to you, I pre- 
sume?” observed one of the jurymen who had not before 
spoken ; but to this I made no reply. 

“Now, have you any suspicion that any secret affection 
existed between her and the deceased?” the Coroner 
asked, in a dry, distinct voice, that could be heard all 
over the room. 

“I — I cannot say,” I faltered. 

The movement among the audience showed the sensa- 
tion my reply had caused, and it was increased by Ella 
suddenly rising from her place and shrieking hysterically: 
“That answer is a lie — a foul lie!” 

“Silence!” shouted the Coroner, who, above all things, 
detested a scene in his Court. “If that lady interrupts 
again, she must be requested to leave.” 

“Have you any further question to ask Mr. Deedes?” 
he inquired, turning to the jury; but as no one replied, 
he intimated that the examination was at an end, and I 
felt that I had, at last, successfully passed through the 
ordeal I had dreaded. 

Retiring to a seat, my place as a witness was at once 
taken by Beck ; but scarcely had I sunk into a chair near 
where Ella was sitting when I felt within my hand the 
object I had taken from among the things found in the 


ELLA’S SUSPICIONS. 


53 


dead man’s possession. It had not been missed, and I 
wondered whether its loss would ever be detected. To 
keep it was, I felt, extremely dangerous; nevertheless I 
sat holding it in my palm, listening to the evidence of the 
well-known member for West Rutlandshire. His story, 
related in that loud, bombastic tone that had at first so 
prejudiced me against him, was much to the same effect 
as mine regarding the discovery of the body, its removal 
into the house, and the subsequent examination by the 
doctor, until there commenced the minute cross-examin- 
ation. 

'‘How long have you known the deceased?” the Cor- 
oner inquired, looking up suddenly from his notes. 

“A few months. About six, I should think,” ‘he an- 
swered. 

“Have you any suspicion that he had an enemy?” 

“No. He was about the last man in the world who 
would arouse the hatred of anybody. In fact, he was 
exceedingly popular.” 

“You say you have been a frequent visitor at Mrs. 
Laing’s. Now, from your own observations, have you 
seen anything that would lead you to the belief that he 
loved Miss Laing?” 

“Nothing whatever,” he replied. “Ella was engaged 
to Mr. Deedes, and although she was on the river a great 
deal with Ogle, I am confident she never for a moment re- 
garded him as a lover.” 

“Why are you so confident?” 

“Because of certain facts she has confided in me.” 

“What are they?” 

He was silent. Evidently he had no intention of being 
led on in this manner, but, even finding himself cornered, 
his imperturbable coolness never deserted him, for he 
calmly replied, with a faint smile, — 

“I refuse to answer.” 

“Kindly reply to my question, sir, and do not waste the 
time of the Court,” exclaimed the Coroner, with impa- 
tience. “What were these facts?” 

Again he was silent, twisting his gloves around his 
fingers uneasily. 

“Come, answer if you please.” 


54 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“Well,” he replied, after considerable hesitation, “brief- 
ly, she gave me to understand that she loved Deedes, and 
had refused to listen to the deceased’s declaration of af- 
fection.” 

“How came she to confide this secret of hers to you?” 
the Coroner asked eagerly. 

Through my memory at that moment there flashed the 
scene I had witnessed in secret in the garden on that 
memorable night when I had detected this man with his 
arm around Ella’s waist, and I looked on in triumph at 
his embarrassment. 

“I am a friend of the family,” he answered, with a calm, 
irritating smile a moment later. “She has told me many 
of her'secrets.” 

I knew from the expression upon his face that he lied. 
Was it not far more likely that on that night when I had 
discovered them he was uttering words of affection to 
her, and she, in return, had confessed that she loved me? 

“Are you aware whether Mr. Deedes had any knowl- 
edge that the deceased was his rival for Miss Laing’s 
hand?” inquired the Coroner, adding, self-apologetically, 
“I much regret being compelled to ask these quesions, for 
I am aware how painful it must be to the family.” 

“I believe he was utterly ignorant of it,” Beck replied. 
“He regarded Mr. Ogle as his closest friend.” 

“A false one, to say the least,” Dr. Diplock observed 
in tones just audible. Beck shrugged his shoulders, but 
did not reply. 

The inquisitive foreman of the jury then commenced a 
series of clumsy, impertinent questions, many of which 
the witness cleverly evaded. He resented this man’s 
cross-examination just as I had done, and during the 
quarter of an hour’s fencing with the tradesman no note- 
worthy fact was elicited. The Coroner, seeing this, sud- 
denly put an end to the foreman’s pertinacious efforts to 
draw from the Member of Parliament further facts re- 
garding home life at “The Nook,” and called Dr. Allenby. 

The doctor, who had apparently had long experience of 
inquests, took the oath in a business-like manner, and re- 
lated the facts within his knowledge clearly and sue- 


ELLA’S SUSPICIONS. 


55 


cinctly, describing how I had summoned him, his visit 
to “The Nook,” and the appearance of the dead man. 

“Have you made a post-mortem?” the Coroner asked, 
without looking up from the notes he was making. 

“I made an examination yesterday, in conjunction with 
Dr. Engall. We found no trace of disease, with the ex- 
ception of a slight lung trouble of recent date.” 

“Was it sufficient to cause death?” 

“Certainly not; neither was the bruise upon the fore- 
head, which had, no doubt, been caused by the fall upon 
the gravel. The heart was perfectly normal, and we 
failed utterly to detect anything that would result fatally. 
The contents of the stomach have been analyzed by Dr. 
Adams, of the Home Office, at the instigation of the po- 
lice, I believe.” 

“Then, as far as you are concerned, you are unable 
to determine the cause of death?” 

“Quite. It is a mystery.” 

The next witness was a thin, white-haired, dapper little 
man, who, in reply to questions, explained that he was 
analyst to the Home Office, and had, at the request of 
the police, submitted the contents of the deceased’s stom- 
ach to analysis, the position of the hands pointing to a 
slight suspicion of poison. 

“And what have you discovered?” inquired the Coro- 
ner, the Court being so silent that the proverbial pin, if 
it had been dropped at that moment, might have been 
heard. 

“Nothing,” he answered clearly. “There was no sign 
of anything of a deleterious nature whatsoever. The de- 
ceased was certainly not poisoned.” 

The assembly of excited townspeople again shifted un- 
easily, as it was wont to do after every important reply 
which might elucidate the mystery. It seemed as though 
a rumor had been circulated that Dudley had been 
poisoned, and this declaration of the renowned analyst 
set at rest for ever that wild, unfounded report. People 
turned to one another, whispering excitedly, and a shad- 
ow of disappointment rested upon their inquisitive 
countenances. They had expected it to be pronounced a 
case of murder, whereas it would now be proved that 


56 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


death had occurred from some natural but sudden and 
unknown cause. 

‘Then you have no opinion to offer as to the cause of 
death?” the Coroner exclaimed. 

“None whatever,” was the reply, and that concluded 
the analyst’s important testimony. 

The foreman of the jury expressed a wish to put a 
question to Ella, and a few moments later she stood where 
I had stood, and removing her glove, took the oath with 
trembling voice. 

“Have you any reason to suppose. Miss Laing, that 
Mr. Ogle’s declaration of love to you had aroused the 
enmity of Mr. Deedes?” asked the man, seriously. 

“No,” she answered in a tone so low that I could 
scarcely distinguish the word. 

“Mr. Deedes was your lover, wasn’t he?” 

“I am still engaged to him,” she replied, tears welling 
in her eyes. “He tells a falsehood when he says that our 
love is at an end.” 

“Then why did you not tell him of Mr. Ogle’s declara- 
tion?” 

“Because they were friends, and I did not wish to 
arouse animosity between them.” 

Slight applause followed this reply, but it was instantly 
suppressed. 

The Coroner, to bring matters to a conclusion, asked, 
“Now, knowing Mr. Ogle as intimately as you did, do 
you suspect that he might have been murdered?” 

She gasped, swayed slowly forward and gripped the 
corner of the baize-covered table to steady herself. 

“Yes,” she answered in a clear but tremulous voice. “I 
— I believe he was murdered.” 

A thrill of excitement and wonder ran through the on- 
lookers. Her handsome face was ashen pale, and her 
breast, beneath her blouse of cold-looking muslin, rose 
and fell quickly, showing how intense was her agitation. 

“And what causes you to believe this?” asked the 
Coroner, raising his brows in interrogation. 

“I have suspicions,” she answered in a low voice, striv- 
ing to remain calm, and glancing quickly around the 
silent assembly. 


ELLA’S SUSPICIONS. 57 

“You suspect some person of having been guilty of 
murder?” he asked, interested. 

“Not exactly that,” she said quickly. “That Mr. Ogle 
was murdered I feel confident, but who committed the 
crime I am unaware. It is a mystery. Knowing Mr. 
Ogle so well as I did, he entrusted to me knowledge of 
certain facts that he strenuously kept secret from others. 
Yet I cannot conceive who would profit by his death.” 

At this point the inspector of police rose and expressed 
a desire to know, through the Coroner, whether she had 
quarreled with Mr. Ogle. 

“The day prior to his death we had a few words,” she 
faltered. 

“Upon what subject?” asked the Coroner. 

She at first refused to reply, but after being pressed, 
said, “We quarreled about my engagement to Mr. 
Deedes.” 

So she acknowledged with her own lips that the dead 
man had been my bitter enemy, as I, too late, had dis- 
covered. 

“He wished you to marry him?” suggested the Cor- 
oner. 

She did not answer, but burst into a fit of hysterical 
tears, and a few moments later was led out of the Court. 

“I think, gentleman,” the Coroner observed, turning to 
the jury, “no end can be obtained in pursuing this very 
painful inquiry further. You have heard the evidence, 
and while on the one hand the exact cause of death has 
not been established, on the other we have Miss Laing 
declaring that the unfortunate gentleman was murdered. 
The evidence certainly does not point to such a conclu- 
sion, and there are two courses that may be pursued; 
either to adjourn the inquiry, or to return an open ver- 
dict and leave the elucidation of the mystery in the hands 
of the police.” 

The jury, after consulting among themselves, retired, 
but only for five minutes, coming back into court and 
returning an open verdict of “Found dead.” 

Then, as the Coroner thanked the twelve tradesmen 
for their attendance, I rose and crossed to Beck, after- 
wards walking with him to “The Nook.” 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 




CHAPTER yill. 

“I DARE NOT!” 

"‘What do you think of Ella’s statement?” Beck asked, 
as we were crossing Staines Bridge on our way to Mrs. 
Laing’s. 

‘T can’t understand it,” I replied. 

“Neither can I,” he said. “Girls of her excitable 
temperament are apt to make statements of that charac- 
ter utterly without foundation. No doubt Dudley was 
her intimate friend, and finding him dead, her romantic 
mind at once conjured up visions of murder.” 

“Yes. There is a good deal in your argument,” I 
admitted, with a touch of sorrow at the remembrance that 
Ogle had aspired to her hand. 

“I never spoke to you on the subject, for fear of mak- 
ing mischief, but I have many times been amazed at your 
blindness when Dudley and Ella used to flirt openly be- 
fore your very eyes,” he observed, glancing at me. 

“Ah! you are right,” I cried angrily. “I foolishly 
trusted him, believing implicity in his honor and in Ella’s 
purity.” 

“Of the latter you surely have no cause for suspicion,” 
he exclaimed quickly. 

“I am not so certain,” I replied with bitterness. “The 
more deeply I attempt to probe this mystery, the more 
sorrow I heap upon myself. I was happy in the belief 
that she loved no other man except me, yet apparently 
she is as tactful as an adventuress, and delights in toying 
with a man’s affections.” 

“Every woman is fickle,” my friend remarked sym- 
pathetically. “If she is thrown into the society of one 
man frequently, and passes idle hours alone with him, 
she either ends in loving him or hating him. There is 
little purely platonic friendship between men and women 
nowadays.” 


I DARE NOXr 


59 


“Yes, alas!” I echoed, as we entered the carriage drive 
and passed the well-remembered spot where I had dis- 
covered the body. “There is very little indeed.” 

A quarter of an hour later I stood alone before the 
window of the bright morning-room which commanded a 
beautiful view of the brilliant, sunlit Thames, and the row 
of tall, swaying poplars and drooping, wind-whitened 
■vvdllows on the opposite shore. I was awaiting Ella, who 
had, her maid told me, gone to her room. 

Presently, pale-faced and trembling, she entered, and, 
closing the door, moved slowly towards me, stretching 
forth her hand in silence, her tearful eyes downcast. I 
grasped the slim, white fingers, and found them cold 
as marble. 

“Geoffrey,” she exclaimed, low and huskily. “Geof- 
frey, forgive me!” 

“Forgive! For what reason?” I inquired sternly, look- 
ing at her in admiration, yet determined to be firm. This 
was, I resolved, to be our last interview. 

“Because I — I was foolish and weak, and — ” She 
paused, sighing deeply. 

“Well?” I said cynically. “What other excuse?” 

“Yes, yes,” she cried brokenly. “I know they are 
mean, paltry excuses. I know I am trying to make you 
believe it was not my own fault, yet — ” and pausing 
again, she raised her clear blue eyes to mine with passion- 
ate glance, “and yet, Geoffrey, I love you in a manner I 
have loved no other man before.” 

“You have a strange way of exhibiting this so-called af- 
fection,” I observed coldly. “You actually encouraged 
the advances of the man in whom I reposed foolish and 
ill-placed confidence.” 

‘Tor a purpose. I never loved him — never,” she pro- 
tested, trembling. 

“You had a reason? A strange one, I should think,” 
I exclaimed angrily. “Indeed, at this very moment you 
are mourning the loss of this man.” 

“Dudley Ogle was not your enemy, Geoffrey. He was 
your friend,” she answered, with a tremor in her voice. 
“Some day I will prove this to you. I cannot now. It 
is impossible.” 


6o 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


^‘Why?” 

'‘I dare not!” 

‘‘Dare not! What do you fear?” I demanded in sur- 
prise, instantly releasing her hand. 

“The consequences would be fatal to our love,” she 
gasped. Then, after a pause, she clutched my arm, and, 
burying her beautiful face upon my shoulder, sobbed 
bitterly. 

“Our love!” I echoed contemptuously. Notwithstand- 
ing the fierceness of my anger, I smoothed her dark gold 
hair, and presently, when she grew a trifle calmer, en- 
deavored to discover the meaning of her strange, enig- 
matical words. 

“You cannot know — you will never know — how dearly 
I have loved you, Geoffrey,” she cried, in answer to my 
eager questions. “Neither will you ever know how much 
I have suffered, how hard I have striven for your sake.” 

“For my sake! Yet you admit having allowed Dud- 
ley Ogle to utter words that I alone had a right to utter!” 

“Yes, I admit all,” she said, with a tragic touch of 
sorrow in her strained voice. “I deny nothing.” 

“And you come to me asking forgiveness, believing 
that I can again trust you without hearing any explana- 
tion of your recent strange conduct with Beck, as well as 
with Dudley! I think you must regard me, Ella, as a 
weak, impressionable fool,” I added, with bitter sarcasm. 

“No, I do not,” she cried quickly. “I appeal to your 
generosity towards a woman. I have been compelled to 
act against my own inclinations, compelled, in order to 
outwit my enemies, to act a part despicable and revolt- 
ing. I can now only ask forgiveness,” and, throwing her- 
self suddenly upon her knees before me, she cried, “See! 
Geoffrey, I crave one grain of pity from you, my old 
friend, the only man I have loved!” 

“No, Ella,” I answered, quickly withdrawing my hand 
that she was pressing to her hot, fevered lips. “I may 
pity you, but forgive you never.” 

“Never!” she gasped, clasping her breast with her 
hands as if to stay the wild beating of her heart, and 
struggling unevenly to her feet. “Why never?” 

“Because you have deceived me.” 


I DARE NOT! 


6l 


“Yes, yes!” she wailed. “I admit it, I admit it all, 
but I swear my actions were imperative. Ah! alas that 
you cannot know everything, or you would kiss me as 
fondly as you used to do. You, Geoffrey, would love me 
with a love even more tender and passionate than before, 
if only you were aware of what I have suffered for your 
sake.” 

I turned from her in disgust. Her tragic attitude filled 
me with loathing and contempt, for I knew she was lying. 

“Can you never again trust me?” she asked, in a low, 
hoarse voice. “Will you never forgive?” 

“I can have no further confidence in a woman who has 
practiced such artful deception as you have,” I answered, 
turning again towards her, and noticing the look of un- 
utterable sadness in her tearful eyes. 

“Deception!” she cried, starting. “What do you 
mean? What have I done?” 

“You acknowledge having deceived me wilfully with 
all the deep cunning of an adventuress, yet you refuse 
me one word of explanation, either in regard to Beck or 
Dudley!” 

“There is nothing to explain, as far as Mr. Beck is con- 
cerned,” she answered demurely. “He is an old friend, 
and your suspicions that there was any love between us 
are absolutely absurd.” 

“Why, then, did you confess in your letter that you 
were unworthy of my love!” I demanded with warmth, 
walking towards her. 

She hung her head. There was a deep silence, broken 
only by the low ticking of the clock. In a few moments 
her hand stole in search of mine, and, engrossed in my 
own sad thoughts, I let it linger there. 

“Geoffrey,” she said at length, timidly. 

I gazed out upon the sun-lit river, watching a boatful 
of happy holiday folk pass by, and remained stolidly un- 
conscious. 

“Geoffrey,” she repeated, “I tried ever so long to re- 
frain from that confession, yet was unable. But I did 
not allude to Mr. Beck. It was my conduct with Dudley 
that caused me to become a conscience-stricken wretch. 
I feared from day to day that you might discover our 


62 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


many long excursions and the idle afternoons we spent 
up the backwaters; he lazy and indolent, I using all my 
woman’s wiles to fascinate him and bring him to my 
feet.” 

“And you succeeded,” I interrupted huskily. 

“Yes, I succeeded,” she went on, speaking slowly, 
almost mechanically. “I had set my mind upon victory, 
and I achieved it after weeks and weeks of striving, 
dreading always that you might discover the truth, and 
fearing lest my conduct should appear in your eyes too 
serious for forgiveness. The blow that I dread has 
now fallen,” she cried, with a choking sob. “Dudley is 
dead, and I, compelled to speak the truth, have publicly 
acknowledged myself unworthy of your love.” 

“Is it not best that I should know the truth?” I asked 
seriously. “You render your behavior the more unpar- 
donable by the absurd falsehoods you wish me to be- 
lieve.” 

“I do not wish you to believe any falsehoods,” she 
cried resentfully, her bright eyes flashing as she glanced 
at me. “What I have now told you is the truth. I 
swear it before Heaven!” 

“You deliberately flirted with Dudley, with an object 
in view. Oh, no!” I laughed with contempt, “that is 
too lame a tale.” 

“It is the truth,” she said, looking me straight in the 
face, her nervous hands toying with her rings. “Even 
though you may believe ill of me, I have lost neither 
honor nor self-respect. I acted under compulsion, to 
achieve one object.” 

“And I hope you have gained the mysterious end you 
had in view,” I said, with bitter sarcasm. 

“Yes, I have,” she replied, with an intenseness in her 
voice that surprised me. “I have gained my object even 
at risk of being discarded by you, Geoffrey, and being 
branded as a base adventuress.” 

“Even at the cost of the life of the man you deceived?” 
I hazarded. 

She started at my words. Her pale lips trembled, and 
in her eyes was a strange look, as if haunted by some 


“I DARE NOT!” 63 

spectral fear. The effect of this remark was extraordi- 
nary, and I at once added, — 

“Remember, you suspect that Dudley’s death was not 
due to natural causes.” 

“Suspect?” she cried. “I know he was foully mur- 
dered.” 

“By whom?” I inquired, with breathless eagerness. 

“I have yet to discover that,” she answered, in a low 
voice. “But I will make the elucidation of the mystery 
the one object of my life. It is I alone who will avenge 
his murder.” 

“Your very words betray your love for him,” I ex- 
claimed, disgusted. 

“I tell you it is not because I loved him,” she protested, 
with indignation. 

“Then why do you seek revenge?” I demanded ruth- 
lessly. 

“For reasons known to myself — reasons I refuse for 
the present to disclose/’ she replied, regarding me with 
unwavering glance. 

“And you expect me to again repose confidence in you, 
notwithstanding your steady refusal to explain any- 
thing?” I observed, with a laugh. 

“All I have told you now, Geoffrey, is the truth,” she 
replied, looking earnestly into my eyes. “Once I de- 
ceived you, but I will never do so in future. I promise 
some day before long to explain all the facts to you; 
when I do so they will astound you. For the success of 
my plans I am compelled at present to preserve my secret, 
even from you.” 

“What are your plans?” 

“Be patient and you shall see.” 

“You intend to avenge Dudley’s death?” 

“I do; and something further,” she said. “Only by 
the most careful investigation and the strictest secrecy 
can my plans be successfully carried out. Trust in me, 
Geoffrey. Tell me that you will reconsider your decision 
not to forgive me,” she whispered, leaning upon my 
shoulder with one arm entwined affectionately about my 
neck, as was her habit. “And I will yet prove to you 


64 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

that I am an honest woman who has acted only in your 
interests.” 

'‘In my interests? How?” I asked amazed. 

“You shall know all later, when I have ascertained the 
truth.” 

“Tell me one thing, Ella, I exclaimed, after a pause. 
“Have you any idea whether Dudley had any occupa- 
tion?” 

“Occupation? I always understood he had enough 
money to be independent.” 

Then taking from my vest pocket the object I had 
picked up from among the contents of the dead man’s 
pockets displayed on the table in the Coroner’s Court, 
I held it up to her, saying seriously, — 

“Now, tell me truthfully, Ella, have you ever seen this 
in Dudley’s possession?” 

She glanced at it for an instant, holding her breath, as 
across her blanched countenance there passed an expres- 
sion of bewildered amazement. 

The object I held beneath her gaze was insignificant 
in itself, merely a small brass seal, but it bore the Warn- 
ham arms in exact imitation of the cut amethyst worn by 
the Earl. It was the seal which had been used to m.anu- 
facture the duplicate of the envelope containing Eng- 
land’s secret alliance with Germany. 

The suddenness with which I had produced it startled 
and nonplussed her. As I transfixed her blue eyes with 
my keen, suspicious gaze, her white lips moved, but no 
sound fell from them. Embarrassment held her dumb. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE BOND OF SECRECY. 

I held the small brass stamp towards her, inviting her 
to examine it, but she shrank back with an expression of 
terror and repulsion, refusing to touch it. 

“Have you ever seen Dudley with this in his hand?” 


THE BOND OF SECRECY. 65 

I asked, repeating my question seriously, determined 
upon learning the truth. 

“Where did you find it?’^ she inquired, a look of bewil- 
derment upon her haggard face. 

“You have not answered my question, Ella,’^ I said 
sternly. 

“Your question? Ah!” she cried, as if in sudden re- 
membrance of my words. “I — I have never seen Dud- 
ley with it. I — I swear I haven’t.” 

“Is that the absolute truth?” I asked in doubt. 

“The truth!” she echoed. “Did I not, a moment ago, 
promise you I would never again deceive you by 
word or action? Can you never have confidence in me?” 
she asked, in a tone of mingled regret and reproach. 

“But this was found in Dudley’s possession,” I said, 
holding it nearer my gaze, and detecting in the bright 
sunlight streaming through the window small portions of 
black wax still adhering to the cleverly-cut coat of arms. 
Black wax^ I remembered, had been used to secure the 
dummy envelope. 

“And even if that were so, is it such a very remarkable 
fact that a man should carry a seal?” she asked suddenly, 
raising her brows and assuming a well-feigned air of sur- 
prise. At that instant it occurred to me that she was an 
adept in preserving a mystery; she could practice decep- 
tion with a verisimilitude little short of marvelous. 

“But this,” I observed, “is no ordinary seal.” 

“It looks ordinary enough,” she answered, smiling. 
“It’s only brass.” 

“But its discovery forms a clue to a most serious and 
startling crime,” I said. 

“A crime!” she gasped. “What do you mean? Dud- 
ley’s murder?” 

I did not fail to notice that she used the word “mur- 
der” as if she had absolute proof that death had not been 
due to natural causes. Yet the effect of my announce- 
ment had been to fill her with sudden apprehension. She 
strove to appear amazed, but I thought I could detect in 
her attitude and bearing a fear that I had knowledge of 
her secret. 

“It is most probably connected with that tragic event,” 
5 


66 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


I answered meaningly, looking her straight in the face. 
“The police will no doubt pursue their investigations and 
clear up the matter.” 

“The police!” she whispered hoarsely, just as Mrs. 
Laing had done when the officers had entered her house. 
“Do you think they will discover the cause of poor Dud- 
ley’s death?” 

“I cannot say,” I answered calmly. “They will, how- 
ever, discover the reason he had this seal in his posses- 
sion.” 

“I tell you it was not his — I mean I never saw him 
with it,” she protested. 

“But he may have had it in his pocket and not shown 
it to you. Indeed, there were reasons that he should not 
do so because it was used for a nefarious purpose.” 

“For what?” she asked, suddenly evincing an interest 
in the stamp, taking it from my hand and examining it 
closely. 

It was on my tongue to relate to her the whole circum- 
stances, but suddenly remembering that for the present 
the secret of England’s peril must be preserved if the 
identity of the spy were to be discovered, I refrained, and 
answered, — 

“The man who used that seal committed one of the 
worst crimes of which a man can be guilty.” 

“What was it; tell me?” she asked quickly. “Surely 
Dudley never committed any offense!” 

“I am not certain,” I answered gloomily. “An enemy 
who would pose as a friend, as he has done, might be 
capable of any deceit.” 

“Have I not already told you that he was not your 
enemy, Geoffrey?” she observed calmly. 

“Ah, Ella,” I cried in disgust, “all these falsehoods 
only render your conduct the more despicable. You will 
deny next that you went down to Warnham to meet 
him surreptitiously.” 

“To Warnham!” she cried, white to the lips. 

“Yes. Do you deny it?” 

“No. I — it is quite true that I met him there,” she 
faltered. 

“You spent the day with my rival, unknown to me,” I 


THE BOND OF SECRECY. 67 

went on bitterly. '‘Yet you declare that you never loved 
himr 

Her breath came and went in short, quick gasps, her 
haggard eyes were fixed ; she stood silent, unable to make 
reply. 

“It is useless to further prolong this painful inter- 
view,” I exclaimed at last, turning from her. 

“I swear I never loved him,” she cried suddenly. “Some 
day, when you know the truth, you will bitterly regret 
how you have misjudged me, how, while striving to serve 
you, I have fallen under suspicion.” 

“But your visit to Warnham!” I said. “Is that an act 
such as can be overlooked without explanation?” 

“I only ask you to place trust in me, and I will prove 
ere long that I acted under compulsion.” 

“You want me to believe that he held you irrevocably 
in his power, I suppose?” I said with biting sarcasm. 

She nodded, and held her head in downcast, dejected 
attitude. 

“It is easy enough to allege all this, now that he is 
dead,” I observed doubtingly. 

“I have told you the truth. I feared him, and was 
compelled to obey,” she exclaimed hoarsely. 

“What was the object of your visit? Surely you can 
explain that?” 

“No. I cannot.” 

“You absolutely refuse?” 

“Absolutely,” she answered, in a low, strained voice, 
looking straight at me with an expression of determina- 
tion. 

“Then we must part,” I said, slowly but firmly dis- 
engaging myself from her embrace. 

“No, no,” she wailed, sobbing bitterly and clinging 
more closely to me. “Do not be so cruel, Geoffrey. You 
would never utter these words could you know all.” 

“But you will not tell me,” I cried. 

“At present I dare not. Wait; be patient, and you 
shall know everything.” 

“How long must I remain in doubt and ignorance?” I 
asked. 

“I know not. To-morrow the bond of secrecy may be 


68 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


removed from my lips, or it may be many months ere I 
can fearlessly speak and explain,” she answered in a 
strange voice, almost as if speaking to herself. 

“From your words it would appear that some person 
still holds power over you, even though Dudley is dead,” 
I said, looking into her eyes seriously. 

She sighed deeply, and her hand, resting upon my 
shoulder, trembled violently. “Yes, you guess the truth,” 
she answered. “I would tell you all — explain all these 
facts that no doubt puzzle you and cause me to appear 
base, heartless and deceitful — yet I fear the conse- 
quences. If I did so we should be parted forever.” 

“But if you told the truth and cleared your conduct, I 
should then have confidence again, and love you. How 
should we be parted?” 

Pale and silent she stood, with her eyes resting upon 
the distant line of drooping willows. Not until I had re- 
peated my question did she move and answer in a voice 
almost inaudible, as she clung to me, — 

“We should be parted by death,”’ she whispered 
hoarsely. 

“By death!” I cried, dismayed. “What do you mean, 
Ella? Do you fear that the same tragic fate that has 
overtaken Dudley will overtake you?” 

She shuddered, and burying her white face upon my 
shoulder, again burst into a torrent of tears. Hers was 
indeed a woeful figure, bent, dejected and grief-stricken. 
Raising her head at last, she stifled her sobs with an effort, 
and implored with earnestness, — 

“Tell me, Geoffrey, that you will not prejudge me. 
Tell me with your own lips that you will be content to 
wait in patience until I can present the facts to you in 
their true light. I am not an adventuress, as you think. 
I have never, I swear before Heaven, looked upon any 
other man with thought of affection. I have told you of 
my inability to speak; I can tell you no more.” 

I made a movement, steady, stern and deliberate, to put 
her from me; but, with her arms around my neck, she 
cried in an agonized tone, — 

“No, Geoffrey. At least show me a single grain of pity. 
Be patient. If you desire it I will not come near you 


THE BOND OF SECRECY. 


69 


until I can reply to your questions and clear my conduct 
of the stigma upon it ; I will do anything you ask so long 
as you give me time to pursue my investigations and free 
myself from this terrible thraldom. Say you will, and 
bring back peace to my mind and happiness to my heart. 
I love you, Geoffrey, I love you!” and her hot, passionate 
lips met mine in a manner that showed plainly her terri- 
ble agitation, and her fear lest I should cast her off. 

Slowly, during those moments of painful silence that 
followed, my anger and bitterness somewhat abated, and, 
even against my better judgment, feelings of pity swayed 
my mind. It seemed to me, as I reflected upon the past, 
that Dudley Ogle had been unfortunate in his early sur- 
roundings and education; his character had received a 
wrong bias from the very beginning, and the possession 
of wealth had increased it. And yet, in spite of all that, 
there had been something pleasant and good in him. No 
man is altogether hideous when truly known, and I had 
not yet accurately ascertained the character of his mys- 
terious relations with my well-beloved. I had, during 
this interview, caught glimpses of the real, true woman 
beneath the veil of falsehood and evasion of the truth; I 
had seen a wistful look occasionally in Ella’s eyes, as 
though she were haunted constantly by some terrible 
dread. 

Yes, I pitied her. Perhaps, if I waited, the time would 
come when her nature would recover from the blight that 
had fallen upon it; when the alien element that had graft- 
ed itself upon her true life would be expelled by those 
avenging powers that vex and plague the erring soul, 
not in mockery, but to save it from the death that cannot 
die. 

The strangeness of her manner, and the tragic appre- 
hension of her words would, I knew, never fade from my 
memory; yet half inclined to believe I had misjudged 
her, I at length, although feeling that the world could 
never again be quite the same for me, drew her slight 
form towards me, and imprinting a long, passionate kiss 
upon her ready lips, said, — 

‘T will try and think of you as a woman who has been 
wronged, Ella. I will wait until you can explain, but 


70 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


remember that until you relate to me truthfully the whole 
of the facts there can be no love between us.” 

“No love!” she wailed in a voice of poignant grief. 
“Is your love for me so utterly dead, then, that you 
should say this?” 

“No,” I answered, caressing her, stroking her wealth 
of gold-brown hair fondly as of old. “I love you still, 
Ella; yet, speaking candidly, I cannot trust you further 
until you explain the truth.” 

“But you will be patient, will you not?” she urged. 
“Remember that I have before me a task so difficult 
that it may require all my woman’s tact and cunning to 
accomplish it. But I will — I must succeed; failure will 
mean that I lose you, my best beloved. Therefore wait, 
and ere long I will convince you that I have not lied.” 

“Yes, I will wait,” I said, kissing her once again. “Until 
you have cleared yourself, however, remember that I 
cannot love you as I have done.” 

“Very well,” she answered, her tear-stained face bright- 
ening. “If such is your decision, I am content. Be- 
fore long I will explain all the facts, and then, I feel con- 
fident, you, noblest and dearest, will love me even better 
than before.” 

“I trust I shall,” I answered with heartfelt earnestness, 
taking her small hand and pressing it softly; “for I love 
you, Ella.” 

“I care for nothing else,” she answered, raising her face 
to mine and smiling through her tears. “I am happy in 
the knowledge that you still think of me. You have 
enemies ; yes, many. But there was one that loved you 
always — ay, and loves you now, and ever shall love you.” 

For a moment I gazed into the deep blue depths of her 
clear, trusting eyes, still grasping her tiny hand in mine, 
but almost at that instant the door opened and Mrs. 
Laing, fussy, good-natured, and full of sympathy, entered, 
and seating herself, commenced to chat about the events 
of that memorable morning. 


ENGLAND’S PERIL. 


71 


CHAPTER X. 

ENGLAND’S PERIL. 

By the discovery of the duplicate of Lord Warnham’s 
private seal in the possession of my dead companion, it 
became impressed upon my mind that Dudley Ogle, the 
man in whom I had placed implicit trust, had not only 
abused my confidence by making love to Ella, but was a 
spy in the Russian secret service. Try how I would I 
could see no extenuating circumstances, and as next 
morning, when sitting alone in my London flat, moody 
and disconsolate, I calmly reflected upon the startling 
events of the past few days, I saw plainly, from Ella’s at- 
titude when I had exhibited the brass stamp, that, not- 
withstanding her declaration to the contrary, she had seen 
it before. 

It seemed placed beyond all doubt that Dudley had 
acted in conjunction with certain agents, who had by 
some means ascertained the very day and hour that the 
secret convention would arrive from Berlin. Then Dud- 
ley, armed with the forged duplicate, called upon me, and 
while we were together extracted the document from my 
pocket and substituted the envelope. Yet there was the 
registration mark upon it, so cleverly imitated as to defy 
detection. How that had been placed upon the dummy 
puzzled me, for the designation I had written could not 
be known until the envelope, with its precious contents, 
had been filched from my pocket. 

The reason of Dudley’s visit to Warnham was now, to 
a certain extent, explained. More than probable it 
seemed that through bribery he had obtained from one 
of the servants an impression in wax of the Earl’s pri- 
vate seal, and from it the brass stamp had been cut. The 
theft of the document had been accomplished with a neat- 
ness that seemed almost miraculous ; and if Dudley really 
had stolen it, he must have been a most adroit pickpocket. 
Nevertheless, even though his every action had now cor- 


72 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


roborated up to the hilt the suspicion that he was a spy, 

I could not, somehow, believe him capable of such crafty, , 
nay devilish, deception. Friends that we were, I could , 
have trusted him with any secret, or with any of my pos- 
sessions; but these revelations startled and amazed me. 

Still there was a more remarkable and puzzling phase 
of the mystery. If Ella’s fears were well grounded, why 
had he been murdered, and by whom? 

The mysterious secret possessed by the woman I 
adored, the woman who held me under the spell of her 
marvelous beauty, was of a tragic and terrible nature, I 
felt assured. No doubt it had some connection with Dud- 
ley’s death, and that sinister circumstance, once eluci- 
dated, would, I knew, furnish a very valuable clue to the 
identity of the spy, if perchance the innocence of my com- 
panion should be established, as I hoped it might be. 

There was still one fact, too, that required explana- 
tion, one that seemed to prove conclusively that Dudley 
was in the pay of our enemies. I had found, on looking 
over his possessions in our cottage at Shepperton, some 
pieces of crumpled foolscap. He had evidently intended 
to throw them away, but being unable to get rid of them 
at the moment, had placed them in a drawer and locked 
them up. On smoothing them out, I found another 
piece of paper inside. To my astonishment I saw it was 
a letter written by me, while the pieces of foolscap accom- 
panying it were covered with words and sentences in ink 
and pencil, showing how carefully he had studied and 
copied all the characteristics of my handwriting. These 
papers were, in themselves, sufficient evidence that he 
had practiced the forger’s art. 

I had, after leaving Staines, returned straight to Shep- 
perton, and in company with a detective carefully investi- 
gated all my friend’s belongings. We spent the after- 
noon and evening in reading through heaps of letters, 
but discovered nothing that would lead to any suspicion 
of foul play. The detective made notes of one or two of 
the addresses of the writers, and took charge of several 
letters relating to money matters. When, however, we 
had removed all the correspondence from the small 
wooden box in which it had been kept, the detective as- 


ENGLAND’S PERIL. 


73 


certained that there was a false bottom, and unable to find 
out the secret whereby it might be opened, we forced it 
with a chisel. 

At first we were disappointed, only one insignificant- 
looking paper being therein concealed, but when the of- 
ficer eagerly opened it I at once recognized its extreme 
importance, although I preserved silence. The paper was 
nothing less than a Russian passport of a special charac- 
ter signed by the Chief of Secret Police in St. Petersburg, 
and countersigned by the Minister of the Interior himself. 
It was not a formally printed document, but written in 
Russian upon official paper stamped with the double- 
headed eagle. It was made out in the name of Dudley 
Ogle, and after explaining that he was an official engaged 
on secret service, gave him complete immunity from ar- 
rest within the Russian Empire. 

“What’s this, I wonder?” the detective said, puzzled by 
the unfamiliar characters in the writing. 

Taking it from him I glanced through it, and without 
betraying the slightest surprise, answered, “Merely a 
passport for Russia.” 

“That doesn’t lead us to anything,” he replied, taking 
it from my form, glancing at it again for an instant, and 
tossing it back carelessly into the box. 

But when he had completed his investigations, re- 
moved whatever letters and papers he thought might be 
of use and departed, I secured the passport and the crum- 
pled foolscap, and giving Juckes orders to remove my 
belongings back to London and give up possession of 
the cottage, I returned to Rossetti Mansions. 

With these undeniable evidences of Ogle’s activity as 
a spy, I was sitting alone next morning pondering over 
the best course to pursue, at last resolving to go to the 
Foreign Office and boldly place the startling facts before 
Lord Warnham. 

About noon I knocked at the door of the Minister’s 
private room, and received, in his deep, hoarse voice, per- 
mission to enter. He was alone, seated at his big writ- 
ing-table, engrossed in a long, closely-written document 
he was studying. 

“Well, sir,” he exclaimed, with an expression of dis- 


74 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

pleasure when he saw me, ''to what, pray do I owe this 
intrusion?” 

"I have come,” I said, "to clear myself of the charge 
you have made against me.” 

"To clear yourself! Bah!” he cried in disgust, return- 
ing to his papers. "My time is too valuable for further 
discussion,” and he made a movement to ring the bell for 
a messenger to conduct me out. 

But I placed my hand upon his bony fingers firmly, 
and stayed it, saying, — 

"It is to your interest. Lord Warnham, as well as to my 
own, that you should know the truth.” 

"A traitor who will sell his country’s honor is capable 
of any falsehood whereby to justify himself,” he snapped 
savagely. 

"I am no traitor,” I protested in anger. 

His thin, white face relaxed into a bitterly sarcastic 
smile, and his lip curled in withering contempt. 

"The efforts of ten years’ delicate diplomacy with Ber- 
lin have been rendered futile by your treachery or culpa- 
ble negligence. Now you come to me with some 
lame, paltry tale or other, in an endeavor to convince me 
that you are neither thief nor spy! Each word of yours 
only aggravates your offense. I have dismised you, and 
I tell you I decline to reopen the question.” 

"But you have accused me of a crime, and I demand 
to be judged,” I cried. 

"I have already judged you,” he said, after a pause, 
laying down his pen with a sudden calmness, and fixing 
his gray eyes keenly upon me. 

"Yes, falsely.” 

"You have come to me to prove that I have misjudged 
you,” he said at last, leaning back in his chair. "Very 
well. Let me hear your story.” 

"I have no story further than what I have already told 
you,” I answered. "You have made a .charge against 
me ; I have come to you to refute it.” 

"By what means?” 

"By documentary evidence.” 

"Documentary evidence!” he exclaimed. "Of what 
kind?” 


ENGLAND’S PERIL. 


75 


^‘You will remember that I told you of the death of the 
only man who could speak regarding my absence from 
the office and my return.” 

“Yes. He died mysteriously. The inquest was held 
yesterday;” and, taking up a letter from his table, the 
Earl added, “They report from Scotland Yard that an 
open verdict was returned, although one witness, a 
wornan, alleged murder. Well, what was the allegation? 
Against yourself?” he asked raising his gray, shaggy 
brows. 

“No,” I said with emphasis. “I am not a murderer.” 

“Then why did this woman — what’s her name? — Ella 
Laing,” he said, referring to the letter, “why did she 
allege foul play?” 

“I cannot tell; but all the facts I have ascertained point 
to the same conclusion, although the medical evidence 
negatived any such suggestion.” 

“Then what is your contention?” 

“That the man who was my friend was a spy,” I said. 

‘^‘You would shift the responsibility upon one who, 
being dead, can tell us nothing,” he said in a tone of re- 
proachful contempt. “I suspected this. It was but 
what might have been expected.” 

“But I have evidence indisputable that he was a spy,” 
I exclaimed excitedly. “Read this,” and I handed to him 
Dudley’s passport. 

Spreading it out before him, he carefully adjusted his 
pince-nez, and after a little difficulty translated it. Then, 
without expressing any surprise, he turned it over and 
held the paper to the light of the window, examining the 
water-mark. 

“Well,” he exclaimed calmly, at last, “what else?” 

I placed before him the crumpled sheets of foolscap 
whereon attempts had been made — and successfully too 
— to imitate my handwriting, explaining where I had dis- 
covered them. These he also examined very minutely, 
giving vent to a low grunt, as was habitual to him when 
reassured. 

“Anything more?” he asked, impatiently. “I can’t 
waste time. The outlook is too serious.” 

“But you must — you shall spare time to fully investi- 


7b 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


gate this mystery/' I cried. “You will remember that the 
dummy envelope you took from your safe bore an imi- 
tation of your private seal?” 

“Yes. What of that?” 

“Here is the seal with which that impression was 
made,” I replied in triumph, handing to him the little 
brass stamp. “I have had the portions of wax micro- 
scopically examined, and they are of the same wax as 
was used to seal the dummy.” 

He took it between his thin fingers that now trembled 
with excitement. The production of this object was, I 
saw, entirely unexpected. Suddenly rising from his chair 
he unlocked his great safe and took therefrom the dummy 
envelope. Then, returning to his table, he lit a taper and 
carefully made an impression in wax of the seal I had 
given him, afterwards taking it to the light, and by the 
aid of a large magnifying-glass compared it closely with 
the seal upon the dummy. 

“And where did you find this seal?” he inquired, 
glancing across to me. 

“Among the contents of the dead man's pockets,” I 
answered. 

“Impossible!” he retorted. “The police have posses- 
sion of everything found on the man.” 

“Yes, they had, but this came into my possession yes- 
terday at the inquest.” 

“How?” 

I hesitated; then, determined to conceal no fact from 
the great statesman, I answered boldly, — 

“I stole it from the table whereon it was displayed.” 

“Stole it!” he echoed. 

Slowly he turned the brass stamp over in his hand as if 
deep in thought; then, with brows knit in anger, he 
looked me straight in the face, exclaiming bluntly, — 

“Your story is an absolute tissue of lies from begin- 
ning to end.” 

His words staggered me. I had expected him to be 
eager to further probe the mystery, and try and elucidate 
the manner in which Dudley had manufactured the 
dummy and exchanged it for the secret convention. In- 
stead of this he was distrustful and suspicious ; indeed, he 


ENGLAND’S PERIL. 77 

boldly accused me of attempting to wilfully mislead him 
and conceal the truth. 

‘'I have told you no lies. Every word I have uttered 
is the truth,” I answered, with fierce indignation. 

'‘You certainly never obtained possession of this seal 
in the manner in which you would have me believe, for 
the detectives sent to Staines had strict injunctions to 
search for any object that would lead them to suppose 
the dead man was not what he represented himself to 
be, and I made a special request that any seals discovered 
might be submitted to me for examination. If this had 
been in the dead man’s pockets it would have been 
brought to me.” 

“But I tell you it was among the articles found upon 
him. I picked it up from the Coroner’s table, and find- 
ing it was not missed, brought it to you, rather than in- 
form the police of our suspicions, which I understood 
you desired should, for the present, be kept secret.” 

“I do not believe you,” he retorted angrily. 

“Ask whoever searched the body, and they will no 
doubt remember finding the seal,” I answered. 

“It is quite unnecessary,” he exclaimed. 

“Unnecessary? Why?” 

“Because I don’t believe one word of this elegantly 
romantic story of yours.” 

“But I have brought you evidence in black and white 
that Ogle was a spy!” I cried. 

“Evidence of a sort,” he answered carelessly, returning 
to his table and sinking into his arm-chair. “You have 
brought these things to me in order to induce me to 
believe that they were in the dead man’s possession in- 
stead of where they really were — in your own.” 

“It is false,” I protested, flushing at his base and 
dogged insinuations. 

“So is this elaborate so-called evidence you have 
brought me,” he answered. 

“In what way?” I demanded. 

“You wish to know,” he cried. “Well, I will tell you. 
First, the passport is a forged one, and was never written 
in St. Petersburg.” 

“Why?” I cried in dismay. “How can you tell?” 


78 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


^^Because its water-mark shows it to be English paper, 
whereas all Russian official paper, as this is supposed to 
be, is manufactured by Yaronovski, of Moscow, and bears 
his name.’^ 

This fact had never occurred to me, and taking up the 
paper, I examined the water-mark, finding, to my sur- 
prise, the name of a well-known English mill. 

'Then the attempts at imitating your handwriting are 
quite as unsatisfactory,” he went on. "Indeed, I have no 
proof that all those letters and words have not been made 
by yourself.” 

"They have not,” I protested. "You seem determined 
not to believe in my innocence.” 

"And the seal,” he continued, heedless of my interrup- 
tion. "You expected that it would be regarded as irre- 
sistible proof. Well, in the first place I do not believe it 
was discovered on the body, as you allege; and, sec- 
ondly, even if it had been, it is no absolute proof that the 
dead man was the culprit.” 

"Why?” I inquired eagerly. 

"Because it was not with that seal that the dummy 
envelope was secured,” he answered slowly, at the same 
time handing me the two impressions, and inviting me 
to compare them. 

This I did with breathless eagerness, by the aid of the 
magnifying glass, and in astonishment was compelled to 
admit that he spoke the truth. There were several dis- 
crepancies in the quarterings of the arms that I had not 
before noticed, and I saw instantly that they did not cor- 
respond with those impressed upon the envelope. The 
amazing worthlessness of my discoveries held me em- 
barrassed, and I stood helpless, and in silence, as the 
Minister hurled at me some bitter invectives, declaring 
that I had come to him with an ingenious story, and evi- 
dence that might have convinced a man less shrewd. 

"Take your clumsily-forged document and your at- 
tempt to reproduce my seal, and leave me at once!” he 
cried, in a terrible ebullition of wrath, gathering up the 
objects I had brought and tossing them back to me. 
"Your dastardly conduct is too despicable for words; but 
remember that to you and you alone, your country owes 


ENGLAND’S PERIL. 


19 


the overwhelming catastrophe that must now inevitably 
fall upon it.” 

With these ominous words ringing in my ears I stum- 
bled out, knowing not whither I went, and scarcely re- 
sponding to the greetings of the men I knew, who re- 
garded me askance. The great central staircase, up which 
climbed the brilliantly-uniformed representatives of all 
civilized countries on the face of the earth whenever the 
Minister held his receptions, I descended with heavy 
heart, and crossing the gray, silent courtyard, soon 
found myself amid the bustle of Parliament Street. 

I saw with chagrin how utterly I had failed in my 
endeavor to elucidate the mystery, for not only had I 
been unable to throw any further light upon the theft of 
the treaty, or the tragic end of the man I suspected, but 
I had actually heaped increased suspicion upon myself. 
On reflection, I found myself in accord with the Minis- 
ter’s declaration that the passport was a forgery, and that 
the brass stamp was not the seal used by the spy. These 
facts were absolutely incontestible. The only thing re- 
maining was the paper whereon attempts had been made 
to imitate my writing. I tried to explain this fact away, 
and clear the memory of the dead man of all suspicion, 
but, alas! could not bring myself to believe in his inno- 
cence. There rankled in my breast the bitter thought 
that he had uttered words of love to Ella, and had tried 
to induce her to break off her engagement to me. She 
herself had acknowledged on oath before the Coroner 
that they had quarreled because she loved me. No. Al- 
though this passport was a clumsy imitation, and the 
seal had been cut without due regard to the Warnham 
quarterings, the plain, incontestible evidence of his forg- 
ery remained. 

He was, after all, a cunning, despicable scoundrel, who 
had brought dishonor upon my name and ruined me both 
socially and financially. I found myself smiling grimly 
at the thought of how quickly retribution had fallen upon 
him. If he had died from natural causes it was but a 
judgment for his misdeeds; if struck down by an un- 
known hand it was but vengeance for his treachery to- 
wards his Queen, his country, and his bosom friend. 


8o 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


Heedless of where I went I walked on, called at my 
club, I remember, and thrust my letters into my pocket 
unopened; then, pursuing my way, arrived home late in 
the afternoon. As I entered, Juckes handed me a note 
from Ella, telling me that they had left Staines owing to 
the tragic affair, and asking me to call that evening at 
Pont Street, adding that she wished to see me upon a 
very important matter. For a long time I sat alone, 
smoking and thinking, trying to devise some means by 
which I could bring the Earl to believe in my loyalty; 
but at last, in desperation, I rose, dressed, and took a 
cab to Mrs. Laing’s. 

The house was not large, but well ordered, exquisitely 
furnished, and there was about everything an air of ele- 
gant refinement that betokened wealth, taste and cul- 
ture. It was nearly seven when I arrived, and I was 
gratified to learn that, with the exception of Beck, who 
came later, I was the only guest. Dinner was a much 
more stately meal at Pont Street than it had been at 
Staines, where very often we sat down in flannels, and 
I was not sorry when it was over, and I found myself 
free to talk alone with Ella. It was plain, from the dark 
rings about her eyes, that she had passed a sleepless 
night, and that her terrible and mysterious secret bore her 
down beneath its oppressive weight. Yet she had 
greeted me with the same joyous smile, the same hearty 
hand-shake as of old, and I had, while sitting at dinner 
chatting with her, felt myself wondering how I could 
ever have brought myself to utter such bitter reproaches 
and recriminations as I had done on the previous day. 
Her kiss, now that we were alone, thrilled me; her 
speech, soft and musical, held me enraptured by its 
charm. 

She told me, in answer to my questions, how she had 
fared after I left ‘The Nook”; how dismal the place had 
appeared, and how many bitter memories it would always 
possess for her. Then, in response to her suggestion, we 
walked out upon the balcony, where, under the striped 
awning, a table and chairs were set. Here, in the cool 
night air, the quiet only broken by an occasional footfall 


BECK’S PROPHECY. 


8l 


or the tinkle of a passing cab-bell, we sipped our coffee 
and gossiped on as lovers will. 

Suddenly, while she was telling me of the plans her 
mother had prepared for their sojourn for a couple of 
months at the seaside, the loud, strident cry of a running 
newsman broke upon our ears. At first, in the distance, 
the voice did not attract our attention, but when it neared 
us, the words, hoarse, yet indistinct, held me speechless. 
I sat stunned. 

Ella herself sprang from her chair, and leaned over 
the balcony, straining her ears to catch every sound of 
the rough, coarse voice. The man had paused for breath 
before the house, a bundle of papers across his shoulder, 
and the ominous words he shouted were: 

“Extra spe-shall! Probable war against England! 
Spe-shall! War against England! Startling statement! 
Spe-shall!” 


CHAPTER XL 
BECK’S PROPHECY. 

“Hark!” gasped Ella, turning to me, pale in alarm. 
“What is that man crying? Listen!” 

Again the hoarse voice broke the silence, clear, dis- 
tinct, ominous : 

“War against England! Spe-shall!” his cry being 
followed by the sound of hurrying feet as people rushed 
from their houses, purchased copies of the paper at ex- 
orbitant prices, and eagerly devoured the amazing news. 

“Surely it must be some absurd story that the papers 
have got hold of,” Ella exclaimed a few moments later, 
when, after again watching the excitement below, she 
returned and stood beside my chair. “The idea of war 
against us is absolutely absurd. You Foreign Office 
people would have known if such were actually the case. 
Evening papers are so often full of exaggerated reports, 
contradicted next morning, that one ceases to believe in 
them.” 

“I have every reason, unfortunately, to believe in the 
6 


82 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


truth of this sudden probability of war,” I answered 
gloomily, scarce knowing what I said. 

“You believe it’s true!” she cried. “How do you 
know? Will Russia actually dare to challenge us?” 

“Yes,” I replied. “But how were you aware that 
Russia was our enemy?” 

She started and hdd her breath. Her attitude was 
that of one who had unconsciously betrayed herself. 

“I — I — merely guessed it,” she answered lamely, with 
a forced smile a moment later. “I’ve been reading the 
papers lately.” 

“The papers have given no hint of any impending com- 
plication,” I answered abruptly, removing the cigarette 
from my lips and looking up at her keenly. 

“But I read something the other day which stated that 
Russia and France had combined with the object of at- 
tacking England in the near future.” 

I did not answer. I could only gaze at her, amazed 
at the calm, circumstantial manner in which she lied. 
That she had some knowledge of the political situation 
— of what character or extent I knew not — ^was certain, 
for other words she had let drop in unguarded moments 
had once or twice aroused within me increasing suspi- 
cion. When I reflected upon her alarm on hearing the 
strident cry of the newsman, I was compelled to admit 
that her fears were not genuine. The questions she put 
to me regarding the relative strengths of England and 
Russia, and the probable course of events, were naive 
enough, but they were uttered, I knew, with a view to dis- 
arm any suspicion I might entertain. 

At last, wearied of her eternal masquerade, I roused 
myself, tossed away my dead cigarette, and, declaring 
that in the circumstances my presence at the Foreign 
Office was imperative, suddenly said: 

“You asked me to come here this evening because you 
had something particular to say to me, Ella. You have 
not yet referred to it.” 

“I wanted to ask you a question,” she exclaimed in a 
low tone, slowly moving towards me and bending until 
she placed her arm tenderly around my neck. 

“Well, what is it?” 


BECK’S PROPHECY. 


83 


For a moment she remained silent in hesitation, but at 
last spoke in that harsh, strained voice that had so fre- 
quently puzzled me of late. 

“I know you have investigated Dudley’s belongings,” 
she said. “And I wanted to know whether you discov- 
ered among them some scraps of paper bearing imita- 
tions of your own handwriting.” 

I regarded her in surprise; her question amazed me. 
In her eyes I noticed a look of intense earnestness and 
appeal for sympathy. 

“Well, what if I have?” I inquired. 

“If you have, they will, I know, be regarded by you 
as evidence that Dudley was a forger.” 

“That is what I believe him to have been,” I said with 
bitterness. 

“You judge him wrongly,” she replied quite calmly, 
her face nevertheless as white as the simple-made dinner 
gown she wore. “I have already seen those papers, and 
know their authorship.” 

“Did not Dudley trace my writing?” 

“He never did,” she replied. “As his death was en- 
compassed by his enemies, so is dishonor cast upon his 
memory.” 

“Then you allege that he was the victim of conspir- 
acy!” I exclaimed, surprised. 

“No doubt. When I am at last free to speak I shall 
prove it, and by so doing remove from myself the sus- 
picion now resting upon me.” She spoke earnestly, with 
an intense ring in her voice that told me she now uttered 
the truth. 

“For what reason was it desired to imitate my hand- 
writing?” I asked, pressing her hand tenderly. “Come, 
tell me, Ella.” 

“I really don’t know,” she replied. “All I am aware 
is that your writing was most carefully traced and imi- 
tated, and for that purpose two of your letters to me 
were stolen.” 

“By whom?” 

“I have never been able to discover.” 

At that moment our conversation was interrupted by 
a voice crying, “Here, Deedes! Have you seen this 


84 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


alarming news?” and turning I saw Beck standing beside 
the amber-shaded lamp in the drawing-room, a pale pink 
news-sheet in his hand. Rising quickly, I re-entered the 
room, and walking over to him, followed by Ella, took 
the newspaper, and devoured the dozen lines of leaded 
type placed beneath the bold, alarming head-lines. 

My well-beloved was peering over my shoulder as, in 
breathless eagerness, I read that, according to Reuter’s 
correspondent at St. Petersburg, the Novoe Vremya had 
that afternoon issued a special edition containing the 
amazing statement that Russia would, in the course of 
a few hours, formally declare war against England, and 
that this fact was corroborated by the issue of telegraphic 
orders to the commanders of military districts as a pre- 
liminary to a general mobilization of the forces. This 
announcement was similar to that of our secret agent in 
St. Petersburg, with the additional facts that the greatest 
activity had commenced in the War Office and Admiralty, 
and that the Tzar had, in consequence, abandoned his 
visit to Odessa, which he was about to undertake that 
day. 

“The outlook is certainly most alarming,” I observed, 
handing on the paper to Ella. 

“It’s extraordinary!” cried Beck, intensely excited, as 
became a patriotic legislator. “We have not had the 
slightest inkling of any diplomatic deadlock, or any dis- 
agreement with Russia. The whole thing is absolutely 
amazing.” 

“But what will happen?” asked Ella, eagerly, with 
white, scared face. “Will England be invaded and bat- 
tles fought here in the manner prophetic writers have 
foretold?” 

“I fear so,” I said despondently. “If war is really 
declared, a conflict must very soon occur, and the strug- 
gle will then be long and deadly.” 

“But surely the Government will not allow an enemy 
to land upon English soil,” she exclaimed, still holding 
the paper in her trembling hands. “What are ambas- 
sadors for but to avert such catastrophes as this?” 

“Ambassadors,” exclaimed Beck, “appear to me to be 
useless pawns. Surely our Embassy at St. Petersburg 


BECK’S PROPHECY. 


85 

must have been asleep not to have given the Government 
warning of the plans of Russia long ago. Preparations 
for war against a power like England are not made with- 
out very careful deliberation.” 

“But can we be invaded?” I queried. 

“No doubt,” Beck replied promptly. “The opinions of 
our greatest strategists are unanimous that, under cer- 
tain conditions, France and Russia combined could in- 
vade our island. It is all very well for people to talk 
about England’s maritime power; but is it what we 
believe it to be? I think not.” 

Having made a deep study of this very question, I 
was, although a loyal and patriotic Englishman, com- 
pelled to agree with him in a certain measure. Once, 
not so very long ago, it was generally believed, even 
by our greatest military and naval experts, that should 
England become engaged with a first-rate foreign Power, 
she could, single-handed, in a week close every one of 
her enemy’s ports and have a fleet ready to reduce at its 
leisure everything he held beyond the seas. Indeed, 
some authorities went so far as to declare that with al- 
most any two Powers against her, she could do as much; 
and it was that recognition of this power abroad that gave 
England, in spite of her military weakness, so command- 
ing a position in Europe. But since the Franco-Russian 
Alliance the increase in the fleets of the Powers had been 
so rapid that we had utterly failed to keep pace with them. 
We built huge, unwieldy battleships, while our enemies 
constructed the fastest cruisers and torpedo-boat destroy- 
ers afloat, thereby sweeping away our hitherto undis- 
puted mastery of the sea. 

“The great danger that appears to me,” Beck said 
presently, after we had been discussing the serious out- 
look at considerable length, “is that we may be blockad- 
ed by these two hostile powers, so as to reduce us near 
starvation, and compel us to surrender.” 

“But not before we have engaged the enemy at sea 
and given them a taste of the lion’s paw,” I observed. 

“Of course. First, we must expect a great naval battle 
or battles, followed by a dash tfpon our territory and the 
landing of the hostile armies. If England received one 


86 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


serious reverse at sea, she could never recover from it. 
The loss of her maritime power would paralyze her."’ 

‘T know,” I said. “That argument is trite enough. 
But I, nevertheless, believe that England is still, and will 
be for many centuries to come. Queen of the Sea.” 

“Oh! yes,” he said, rather contemptuously. “The 
cheap, clap-trap patriotism of the pot-house and the 
music-hall is all very well, but we, in the House of Com- 
mons, entertain a very different opinion. The belief in 
England’s greatness held by the lower classes is admir- 
able, and, of course, ought to be carefully fostered, be- 
cause it leads men to enlist in the services. But you 
know, as well as I do, that in the Government Depart- 
ments our naval strength is regarded as over-estimated 
in comparison with the power of some other European 
nations, and our military strength utterly inadequate. If 
it is really true that Russia is about to declare war 
against us, I fear the awakening of those confident of 
our insular security will be a terrible one.” 

“Terrible no doubt it will be, on account of the fear- 
ful loss of life and property such a war must entail, but 
I anticipate that when the struggle comes every English- 
man will bear arms for the defense of his home and loved 
ones, and that the foreign invader will meet with a recep- 
tion the warmth of which he never expected.” 

“Geoffrey is a patriot,” exclaimed Ella, laughing. “So 
am 1. I don’t believe Russia and France will ever dare 
to land soldiers on our coasts.” 

“Well spoken,” I exclaimed. “I do not share the fears 
of these so-called experts.” 

“I do,” Beck went on excitedly. “If hostilities occur 
our defenses will soon be found weak and utterly unre- 
liable. That’s my opinion.” 

“Then you declare that England is great no longer,” 
I observed, with a smile. 

“No, I don’t go so far as that; but I contend, as I did 
in my speech in the House a fortnight ago, that those 
charged with maintaining our defenses in a proper state 
of efficiency have for years been culpably negligent. The 
power of England to-day is still the same as it has been — 
on paper. But, in ascertaining it, we always close our 


BECK’S PROPHECY. 


87 

eyes wilfully to the true fact that other nations have awak- 
ened during the past ten years, and have now actually 
overtaken us.” 

“I don’t think that,” I answered. ‘‘Until our country 
is actually invested I shall still believe in its strength.” 

But Beck, greatly to the amusement of Ella, was firm 
in his opinions, and, when I argued with him, com- 
menced to quote statistics with a glibness which told how 
carefully he had studied the speech he recently delivered 
before the House, a speech which, by the way, had been 
dismissed in one line by all the newspapers. Ella, stand- 
ing beside me in her pale cream dress, girdled narrow 
with a band of mauve silk, looked charming, and sup- 
ported me in all my views, exhibiting a knowledge of 
politics and of the Continental outlook that I had not in 
the least suspected. Indeed, she now and then attacked 
the arguments of the member for West Rutlandshire with 
a vehemence that surprised me, for more than once she 
completely upset his declarations by citing some fact he 
had overlooked. 

Even while we discussed these things we knew how 
wildly excited must be the seething world of London. 
The news, although, alas! not fresh to me, had fallen 
that night upon the metropolis like a thunderbolt. Mrs. 
Laing, who presently entered the room, was shown the 
paper by Ella, and was utterly unnerved by the startling 
intelligence. I had noticed that she had never since been 
the same stately, composed woman as before the discov- 
ery of Dudley. The tragic affair at “The Nook” seemed 
to have upset her, and in her face there were now traces 
of extreme nervousness and excitability. 

“Surely the paper has printed an unwarrantable un- 
truth, Mr. Beck,” she exclaimed, after reading the state- 
ment by the aid of her glasses. “I really can’t believe it.” 

“I scarcely think we ought to credit it before we re- 
ceive some confirmation,” the burly legislator replied. 
“It may, of course, be a mere idle rumor set afloat for 
Stock Exchange purposes.” 

At that moment they exchanged swift, mysterious 
glances that somehow appeared to me significant, yet 
next instant I found myself convinced that the unusual 


88 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


expression in their eyes had merely been due to a chi- 
mera of my own imagination. With a foolish disregard 
for probability, I seemed somehow to scent mystery in 
everything, and it now occurred to me that to success- 
fully probe the truth of Ella’s relations with the two men, 
I must never allow myself to be misled by misconstruing 
words or actions. I felt almost confident that I had no- 
ticed Beck and Mrs. Laing exchange looks akin to appro- 
bation; nevertheless, on reflection, I convinced myself 
that I had been quite mistaken, and half an hour later 
laughed at my suspicions. 

Presently Beck announced his intention of going down 
to the House to ascertain the latest official news, and I, 
bidding Ella and her mother farewell, accompanied him. 
It was about eleven o’clock when we drove up, but the 
cab could not get n;uch further than Broad Sanctuary, 
so dense was the crowd that had gathered at St. Stephen’s 
on the startling news being spread. From the high sum- 
mit of Big Ben the electric light was streaming west- 
ward, showing the excited thousands assembled there 
that Parliament was already deliberating upon the best 
course to pursue on the outbreak of hostilities, and as we 
elbowed our way through the turbulent concourse war 
was on everyone’s tongue. Men and women of all 
classes of society, wildly excited, with pale, scared faces, 
discussed the probable course of events; many sang pa- 
triotic songs, the choruses of which were taken up and 
shouted lustily, while here and there, as we proceeded, 
loud invectives against the Tzar and his French allies 
greeted our ears. 

At last we reached St. Stephen’s Hall, and, passing its 
zealously-guarded portals, hurried forward to the Lobby. 
Here the scene was of a most exciting character. Mem- 
bers were standing in small groups, eagerly discussing the 
serious and unexpected turn affairs had taken, and, in 
answer to our inquiries, we learnt that a quarter of an 
hour before an official reply had been given in the House 
to a question addressed from the Opposition benches, ad- 
mitting that, according to the latest advices from St. 
Petersburg, there was, no doubt, foundation for the 
rumor published by the Novoe Vremya, and that it was 


BECK’S PROPHECY. 89 

very probable that in the course of an hour or two war 
would formally be declared. 

A tiresome topic was being discussed in the House, but 
it was being carried on without spirit or enthusiasm, all 
the members being on tiptoe with expectation regarding 
the next telegram from the enemy’s camp. The amazing 
intelligence that had spread like wildfire throughout the 
metropolis had brought every member in town down to 
the House until the Lobby became so thronged that loco- 
motion was difficult. I chatted with many legislators 1 
knew, and found all held similar views — that an at- 
tempted invasion of England had been planned by PTance 
and Russia. The Cabinet had been hastily summoned, 
and was at that moment deliberating with the Comman- 
der-in-Chief regarding the immediate steps to be taken 
for the complete mobilization of the forces. 

One fact had impressed itself upon me as, accompanied 
by Beck, I had struggled through the ever-increasing 
crowd outside, namely, the intense patriotism of the 
Volunteers. There were dozens who, on hearing the 
news, had at once put on their uniforms in readiness to 
bear their part in the defense of their homes, and every- 
where as they swayed to and fro in the crowd they were 
lustily cheered. The sight of a uniform in those wild mo- 
ments was sufficient to send the multitude half mad with 
enthusiasm, and in one or two instances volunteers had 
been raised shoulder-high in order that all should unite 
in giving them ovations. 

Within the somber, smoke-blackened walls of Parlia- 
ment it was a breathless period of eager waiting. There 
was no cheering, there was no cheap patriotism, no out- 
burst of enthusiasm. Some of the little knots of white- 
hatted politicians condemned the Government unmerci- 
fully for failing to obtain news of a pending catastrophe 
which might have been avoided by diplomacy, while 
others declared that the action of the Opposition in the 
past was alone responsible for the present disaster. 
Wherever I went I found an opinion, almost unanimous, 
that England could not withstand the blow now threat- 
ened. In that time of wild theories and wilder appre- 
hensions, Beck’s arguments and prophetic utterances 


90 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


were listened to eagerly, until quite a crowd stood around 
him. Of late he had written one or two articles on the 
subject of England’s unpreparedness for war, notably one 
in the “Nineteenth Century,” which had attracted con- 
siderable attention, and his opinions were now listened to 
and afterwards discussed, even among men whose names 
were household words. 

As I stood watching and listening, I was compelled 
to admit that during the short time my friend had been 
in Parliament he had certainly won good opinions, and 
even among the most level-headed politicians his views, 
notwithstanding his blustering manner, were regarded 
as worthy of serious consideration. I confess to having 
previously looked upon him rather as a crank upon this 
subject, but I did so no longer, now that I recognized 
what weight his arguments carried. 


CHAPTER XII. 

AN IMPORTANT DISPATCH. 

Half an hour later I stood at the door of the small post- 
office in the Lobby, after discussing the situation with 
that most cheery and courteous of officials, Mr. Pike, the 
postmaster, who had left me for a moment to give some 
instructions to his subordinates. My mind was filled by 
gloomy thoughts, as I reflected that all this national 
terror and excitement had been produced by the das- 
tardly and almost miraculous ingenuity of some un- 
known person. 

But was he unknown? Was it not more than probable 
that the person to whom all this was due v/as Dudley 
Ogle, the man who lay lifeless without a single sorrow- 
ing friend to follow his body to the grave? Sometimes 
I felt entirely convinced of this: at others I doubted it. 
If Ella spoke the truth, as it now appeared, then it was 
plain that Dudley had been the victim of a terribly cruel 
and crafty conspiracy that culminated in his death. 
Might not this be so? I argued within myself. Yet the 


AN IMPORTANT DISPATCH. 


91 


words and actions of Ella were all so remarkable, so 
veiled by an impenetrable mystery, that any endeavor to 
elucidate her reasons only puzzled me the more, driving 
me almost to the verge of madness. 

Truth to tell, I loved her with a fond, passionate love, 
and had, only after months of trepidation and uncer- 
tainty, succeeded in obtaining her declaration that she 
reciprocated my affection, and her promise to be my 
wife. Yet within a month of my new-born life in happi- 
ness supreme, all these untoward events had, alas! oc- 
curred, stifling my joy, replacing confidence by doubt, 
and driving me to despair. 

While I stood there alone. Lord Warnham hastily 
approached the post-office window with a telegram, and, 
seeing me, exclaimed : 

“Ah! I want you, Deedes. An hour ago I sent tele- 
grams everywhere for you. Come with me to my room.” 

He handed in his telegram, and together we went 
along the corridors to his own private room, where, in 
an arm-chair, with some papers in his hand, sat the Mar- 
quis of Maybury, Prime Minister of England. We had 
met before many times when the burly, elderly peer had 
been a guest at Warnham Hall, and on many occasions 
I had acted as his secretary when he had been alone. 

“Well, Deedes,” he exclaimed gravely, looking up sud- 
denly from the papers, “Lord Warnham has explained 
to me the mysterious theft of the secret convention, and 
I am anxious to see you regarding it.” 

The Eoreign Minister seated himself at his table in 
silence, with folded arms, as the world-renowned states- 
man proceeded to question me closely regarding the 
events of that memorable day when the document had 
been so ingeniously stolen. 

“Have you not the slightest clue to the culprit, even 
now?” Lord Maybury asked at last, stroking his full gray 
beard. “Remember that England’s honor and her fu- 
ture depends absolutely upon the issue of this serious 
complication. If you can furnish us with any informa- 
tion, it is just possible that diplomacy may do something, 
even at the eleventh hour. You see we have lost the 
original of the convention, and this, if produced in 


92 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


Petersburg, is sufficient evidence against us to upset all 
our protestations.” 

“I have told Lord Warnham all I know,” I answered 
calmly. “To him I have explained my suspicions.” 

“That this friend of yours called Ogle, who died mys- 
teriously on that very same day, was the actual spy,” he 
observed. “Some of the facts certainly point to such a 
conclusion ; but, now tell me, did Ogle enter your room 
at the Foreign Office on that day?” 

“Certainly not,” I replied. “No one is allowed in my 
room except the clerks.” 

“Could he have seen the envelope sticking out of your 
pocket?” 

“No,” I answered. “I am confident he could not, be- 
cause, on placing it in my pocket, a deep one, I took 
precaution to notice whether it were visible.” 

“Then, if such is the case, I maintain that Ogle could 
not possibly have known what designation you had writ- 
ten upon the envelope,” the Premier observed; adding, 
“Did you meet anyone you knew during your walk to the 
Ship, or while you were in Ogle’s company?” 

“No one whatever,” I said. 

“I know the Ship. At which table did you sit?” 

“At the first table on the left, in the inner room beyond 
the bar. I sat in the corner, with my back to a high 
partition. Therefore, the envelope could not possibly 
have been extracted from my pocket without my knowl- 
edge.” 

“Then I should like to hear your theory of the affair,” 
said the Prime Minister, his dark, penetrating eyes fixed 
upon me. 

“It is so remarkable,” I answered, “that I am utterly 
unable to form any idea how the theft was accomplished.” 

^‘You believe, however, that Ogle was a spy?” 

“At present, yes,” I said. “And further, I have grave 
suspicions that he was murdered.” 

“Ah, that was alleged at the inquest,” his Lordship 
observed. “At present the police are sparing no effort 
to determine the cause of his death, and to find out who 
manufactured the duplicate of Lord Warnham’s seal.” 

“The seal I picked up from among the contents of 


AN IMPORTANT DISPATCH. 93 

Ogle’s pockets was not the identical one used to secure 
the dummy envelope,” I said quickly. 

‘1 am fully aware of all the facts,” he answered rather 
coldly. “My desire is to find out something fresh. Even 
the police seem utterly baffled. Who is this young wom- 
an, Ella Laing, who at the inquest alleged murder?” 

“The daughter of Mrs, Laing, of Pont Street.” 

“Do you know her intimately?” 

“She is engaged to be married to me,” I replied. 

“It is apparent that she was very friendly with this 
Ogle. Surely you can induce her to tell you something 
about him.” 

“She knows but little more than what I already know. 
He lived with me at Shepperton, and had few secrets 
from me.” 

“Did you ever suspect him to be a spy?” 

“Not for one moment. Pie had plenty of money of his 
own, and was in no sense an adventurer.” 

“Well,” exclaimed the Premier, turning to his col- 
league at last. “It is extraordinary — most extraordi- 
nary.” 

Lord Warnham nodded acquiescence, and said, “Yes, 
there is a deep and extraordinary mystery somewhere: a 
mystery we must, for the sake of our own honor, pene- 
trate and elucidate.” 

“I entirely agree,” answered the other. “We have been 
victimized by clever spies.” 

“And all owing to Deedes’ culpable negligence,” 
added Lord Warnham, testily, glancing at me. 

“No, I am inclined to differ,” exclaimed the Premier. 
He had never acted very generously towards me, and I 
was surprised that he should at this moment take up the 
cudgels on my behalf. “To me it appears, as far as the 
facts go, that Deedes has been victimized in the same 
manner as ourselves.” 

“But if he had exercised due caution this terrible catas- 
trophe could never have occurred,” the Foreign Minister 
cried impatiently, tapping the table with his pen in em- 
phasis of his words. 

“A little more than mere caution, or even shrewdness, 
is required to defeat the efforts of the Tzar’s spies,” the 


94 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


Premier said quietly. “In my opinion, Deedes, although 
in a measure under suspicion, cannot be actually con- 
demned. Remember, among Ogle’s correspondence he 
discovered evidence of an undoubted attempt to forge 
his handwriting.” 

^‘We have no corroboration that he really did find that 
actually among the dead man’s possessions,” exclaimed 
Lord Warnham quickly. “I have myself seen the de- 
tective who accompanied him to Shepperton, and he tells 
me that no sheets of paper of that character were discov- 
ered. He ” 

“I found them while he was engaged in an adjoining 
room,” I interrupted. “I did not mention it to him, pre- 
ferring to bring the evidence straight to you.” 

“It is just possible that Deedes’ version is correct,” 
observed the Premier. “Personally, I must say, Warn- 
ham, that I cannot see any ground for the dismissal of a 
hitherto trustworthy servant of Her Majesty upon this 
extraordinary evidence. I have always found Deedes up- 
right, loyal and patriotic, and coming as he does of a 
well-known family of diplomats, I really do not suspect 
him of having played his country false.” 

“I am obliged for your Lordship’s words,” I exclaimed 
fervently. “I assure you that your merciful view is en- 
tirely correct. I am innocent, and at this moment am 
utterly at a loss to account for any of the amazing events 
of the past few days.” 

Lord Warnham was silent in thought for a few mo- 
ments, then, turning his sphinx-like face to me, he said, 
in a tone rather more conciliatory than before, “Very 
well. As it is Lord Maybury’s wish, I will reinstate you 
in the Service; but remember, I have no confidence in 
you.” 

“Then you still suspect me of being a spy?” I cried 
reproachfully. “I am to remain under suspicion!” 

“Exactly,” he answered dryly. “Until the truth is 
ascertained I, at least, shall believe you had something to 
do with the theft of that secret convention. Even the 
telegram sent from the Strand Post Office to St. Peters- 
burg is in your handwriting ” 

“Forged!” I interposed. “Have you not already seen 


AN IMPORTANT DISPATCH. 95 

the careful attempts made to copy the formation of my 
letters and figures?” 

“The greatest caligraphic expert of the day has pro- 
nounced the telegram to be undoubtedly in your own 
hand, while the counter-clerk who took in the message 
and received payment for it, has seen you surreptitiously, 
and recognized you by the shape of the silk hat you hab- 
itually wear.” 

Here was an astounding case of mistaken identity. I 
had never entered the post-office near Exeter Hall for six 
months at least. 

“I should like to meet that clerk face to face,” I burst 
forth. “He tells a distinct falsehood when he says he 
recognizes me. I did not go into the Strand at all on that 
day.” Then a thought suddenly occurred to me when 
I reflected upon the shape of my hat, and I added, “I 
admit that my hat is of a rather unusual shape,” taking 
it up and exhibiting it to them. “But when I bought this 
in Piccadilly two months ago Ogle was with me, and he 
purchased one exactly similar.” 

“Again the evidence is against the dead man,” the 
Premier said, turning to Lord Warnham. “Where is his 
hat?” he inquired of me sharply. 

“At Shepperton. I can produce it if required. Its 
shape is exactly like mine.” 

“You had better speak to Frayling upon that point,” 
observed Lord Warnham. “It may prove important. At 
any rate, Deedes, perhaps, after all, I have been just a 
trifle unjust in condemning you, therefore consider your- 
self reinstated in the same position as before, although I 
must admit that my previous confidence in your integrity 
is, to say the least, seriously — very seriously — impaired.” 

“I hope it will not remain so long,” I said. “If there 
is anything I can do to restore your belief in my honesty, 
I will do it at whatever cost.” 

“There is but one thing,” he exclaimed. “Discover the 
identity of the spy.” 

“I will regard that the one endeavor of my life,” I 
declared earnestly. “If the mystery is to be fathomed I 
will accomplish it.” 

“While we’ve been talking,” the Premier interposed, 


96 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


‘‘a thought has occurred to me, and for mentioning it I 
hope you, Deedes, will pardon me. It has struck me 
that if, as seems even more than likely, this man Ogle 
was actually a spy who had carefully cultivated your ac- 
quaintance with an ulterior motive, is it not within the 
range of possibility that the lady, who was also your 
most intimate friend, as well as his, either knew the true 
facts, or had a hand in the affair?” 

“I can trust Ella,” I said, glancing at him resentfully. 
''She is no spy.” 

The elderly statesman stroked his beard thoughtfully 
and smiled, saying, “Ah, I expected as much. I myself 
was young once. When a man loves a woman he is very 
loth to think her capable of deceit. Yet in this instance 
we must not overlook the fact that more than one female 
spy has been brought under our notice.” 

“I am aware of that,” I replied, angry that he should 
have made such a suggestion against my well-beloved, 
yet remembering her strange utterances when she heard 
the news of impending war shouted in the street. “But 
I have the most implicit faith in the woman who is to be 
my wife.” 

“Has she explained, then, the character of the secret 
existing between herself and Ogle?” asked Lord Warn- 
ham, raising his gray, shaggy brows. “From the evi- 
dence at the inquest it was plain, you will remember, that 
there was some mysterious understanding between them. 
Has she given you her reasons for declaring that Ogle 
has been murdered?” 

For a moment I was silent; afterwards I was com- 
pelled to make a negative reply. 

“That doesn’t appear like perfect confidence, does it?” 
the Foreign Minister observed, with a short, hard laugh. 
“Depend upon it, Deedes, she fears to tell you the truth.” 

“No, she fears some other person,” I admitted. “Who 
it is I know not.” 

“Find out, and we shall then discover the spy,” the 
Premier said, adding, with a touch of sympathy, after a 
moment’s pause, “Remember, I allege nothing against 
you, Deedes. Do your duty, and regardless of all con- 
sequences discover the means by which we have been 


AN IMPORTANT DISPATCH. 


97 


tricked. Induce the woman you love to speak; nay, if 
she loves you, force her to do so, for a woman who truly 
loves a man will do anything to benefit him, otherwise 
she is unworthy to become his wife. Some day ere long 
you yourself will become a diplomat, as other members 
of your family have been. Now is the time to practice 
tact, the first requisite of successful diplomacy. Be tact- 
ful, be resourceful, be cunning, and look far into the fu- 
ture, and you will succeed both in clearing yourself and 
in explaining this, the most remarkable mystery that has 
occurred during the long years of my administration.” 

I thanked him briefly for his advice, declaring that it 
should be my firm endeavor to follow it, and also thanked 
Lord Warnham for my reinstatement, but my words were 
interrupted by a loud double knock at the door, and in 
response to an injunction to enter, there appeared, hot 
and breathless, Frank Lawley, one of the Foreign Office 
messengers. He wore, half concealed by his overcoat, 
his small enameled greyhound suspended around his 
neck by a thin chain, his badge of office, and in his hand 
carried one of the familiar traveling dispatch-boxes. 

‘‘Good-evening, your Lordships,” he exclaimed, greet- 
ing us. 

“Where are you from, Lawley?” inquired Lord Warn- 
ham, eagerly. 

“From Paris, your Lordship. My dispatch, under fly- 
ing seal, is, I believe, most important. The Marquis of 
Worthorpe feared to trust it on the wire.” 

In an instant both Premier and Minister sprang to 
their feet. While Lord Maybury broke the seals Lord 
Warnham whipped out his keys, opened the outer case, 
and then the inner red leather box, from which he drew 
forth a single envelope. 

This he tore open, and holding beneath the softly- 
shaded electric lamp the sheet of note-paper that bore 
the heading of our Embassy in Paris, both of Her Maj- 
esty's Ministers eagerly devoured its contents. 

When they had done so they held their breath, raised 
their heads, and without speaking, looked at each other 
in abject dismay. The contents of the dispatch held them 
spell-bound. 

7 


98 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


The window of the room was open, and the dull, dis- 
tant roaring of the great, turbulent multitude broke upon 
our ears. The excitement outside had risen to fever 
heat. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A STATEMENT TO THE PRESS. 

“This is indeed extraordinary!’^ exclaimed Lord May- 
bury, the Premier, at last. 

“An amazing development — most amazing!” the For- 
eign Minister cried, unusually excited. 

“What is the best course?” asked the head of the 
Government. 

“There is but one,” his colleague answered. “I shall 
wire to St. Petersburg at once and await confirmation.” 

“The situation is becoming absolutely bewildering,” 
observed the Premier. “It may be best, I think, to con- 
vene another meeting of the Cabinet.” 

Lord Warnham, with that involuntary caution that 
he had developed during long years of office as Minister 
of Foreign Affairs, at once dismissed Frank Lawley, but 
allowed me to remain. As his confidential secretary I 
had been present on many occasions when delicate mat- 
ters of diplomacy had been adjusted and plans arranged 
which, if divulged, would have caused an upheaval 
throughout Europe. 

“No, I don’t think another Council is necessary, at 
least not to-night,” answered Lord Warnham, when the 
cosmopolitan messenger had closed the door behind him. 

“But the whole thing is at present a mystery,” said the 
Prime Minister, standing astride with his broad back to 
the empty grate. 

“Exactly. We must have news from the Embassy in 
St. Petersburg before long. LFntil then, I think we should 
be patient.” 

“But hark!” exclaimed the Premier, quite calmly, and 
as we all three listened we could hear the dull roar of the 
crowd becoming louder. The popular excitement out- 


A STATEMENT TO THE PRESS. 


99 


side was intense, and the eager multitude increased each 
moment. “They are clamoring for news. It is, I think, 
time that another statement should be made in the 
House.” 

“As you wish,” Lord Warnham answered, with ill 
grace. It was part of his creed to tell the public abso- 
lutely nothing. The Premier was for publicity — he for 
secrecy always. 

“But whatever statement is made regarding the receipt 
of intelligence it cannot compromise our position at St. 
Petersburg,” the Marquis argued. 

“Very well. Let the statement be made. But, per- 
sonally, I cannot see what- we can say at present.” 

“Say something. It will reassure the public that we 
are endeavoring to readjust diplomatic negotiations. Al- 
ready we are being hounded down on all sides by wild- 
haired agitators as having been asleep. Let us show our 
opponents that we are now fully alive to England’s 
peril.” 

“Ah, Maybury,” laughed the Foreign Minister, “it is 
always my opinion that the less the public know the 
easier it is for us to carry on the business of the country. 
The irresponsible journals are really the cause of nine- 
tenths of our diplomatic ruptures.” 

“But the Press assist us in many ways, and if you are 
averse to a statement in the House why not make one to 
The Times, or to a news agency? Perhaps the latter 
course would be best, for it will re-establish public con- 
fidence.” 

“But that will not be official,” Lord Warnham de- 
murred. 

“Nevertheless, we can make the official statement 
later, when we have received confirmation of this ex- 
traordinary dispatch.” 

“Is the dispatch from Paris very remarkable?” I asked, 
unable to any longer bear their tantalizing conversation, 
so anxious was I to ascertain the latest development of 
this conspiracy against our country.” 

“Read it for yourself,” Lord Warnham answered, 
glancing at the Premier to ascertain whether this course 
received his approbation, and, finding that it did, he 


100 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


handed me the dispatch, which I found a moment later 
read as follows : — 

^‘From Marquis of Worthorpe, Paris, to Earl of Warn- 
ham. Her Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for 
Foreign Affairs. — My Lord, — In further continuation of 
my dispatch of this morning, I have the honor to report 
to your Lordship that the war preparations actively com- 
menced here on receipt of a telegram from St. Petersburg 
(copy of which was enclosed in my last dispatch) have, 
owing to a later telegram from Russia, been entirely 
stopped. The orders for mobilization have everywhere 
been countermanded. According to a statement just 
made to me by our secret agent in the Ministry of For- 
eign Affairs, the French Government have to-day re- 
ceived word that the Tzar’s declaration of war will not, 
for some unexplained reason, be published. I send this 
by special messenger in the hope that it will reach your 
Lordship this evening. — Worthorpe.” 

“This is remarkable!” I cried. “It appears as if Russia 
has already repented.” But the Premier and his colleague, 
at that moment in consultation regarding the steps to be 
taken should this astounding and reassuring news prove 
correct, did not notice my remark. Presently, however, 
the Prime Minister, turning to me, asked, — 

“Are any of the reporters your personal friends, 
Deedes?” 

“Yes, I know several.” 

“To whom shall we make our statement?” he inquired. 
“We want it spread throughout the country.” 

“In that case I should suggest Mr. Johns, of the agency 
that supplies the club tapes and newspapers.” 

“Then send for him.” 

At once I went to the door and dispatched the messen- 
ger waiting outside to find that well-known figure of the 
Reporters’ Gallery, who makes it his boast that for years 
without a break he had sat through every sitting of the 
House of Commons, and whose friends have a legend that 
he can enjoy a sleep in his “box” over the Speaker’s chair 
and awake at the very moment any question of public 


A STATEMENT TO THE PRESS. lOI 

interest arises. Ten minutes had elapsed when the chosen 
representative of the Press entered, hot and breathless, 
bowing to their Lordships. He was spare, dark-haired, 
with sharp, aquiline features, a breadth of forehead that 
denoted considerable learning, a pointed, dark-brown 
beard, and a pair of sharp, penetrating eyes. He spoke 
with a broad Scotch accent, his sallow face betraying 
signs of considerable excitement. 

“I desire, Mr. Johns, to make a statement to the Press, 
and have sent for you with that object,” exclaimed the 
Minister for P’oreign Affairs, glancing up at him. 

“With pleasure, my Lord,” exclaimed the reporter, 
taking from his pocket a pencil and a few loose sheets 
of “copy paper.” “I’m quite ready.” 

Then, as Lord Warnham dictated his message to the 
public, the representative of the news agency took it 
down in a series of rapid hieroglyphics. The words the 
Minister uttered were as follows: — 

“In order to allay undue public alarm, I wish it to be 
known that, according to advices I have received, the 
statement in the Novoe Vremya to-day, at first believed 
to be correct, is without foundation.” 

“Then war is not declared?” interrupted the reporter, 
excitedly. 

“No. The alarming report reproduced by the English 
Press from the St. Petersburg journal is apparently to- 
tally incorrect.” 

“And I presume I may say that there is no rupture of 
diplomatic negotiations with St. Petersburg?” 

Lord Warnham, smiling that sphinx-like smile which 
might be construed into anything the interlocutor chose, 
turned to the Prime Minister for his opinion upon the 
point. 

“Of course,” exclaimed the Marquis. “We have re- 
ceived no intimation of any diplomatic difficulty. Further, 
you may reassure the public that the Government will do 
everything in its power to avert any catastrophe; but as 
no catastrophe has occurred, all this excitement is quite 
uncalled for.” 

“May I use your own words, your Lordship?” inquired 


102 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


the reporter, quickly. '‘I want to reproduce this in the 
form of an interview.” 

“You can act as you please about that,” the Premier 
said, smiling, as he added, “I suppose we shall see it in 
every newspaper in England to-morrow, headed, ‘The 
War Against England: Interview with the Prime Min- 
ister,’ — eh ?” 

“Not to-morrow, your Lordship — ^to-night,” laughed 
the reporter, fidgeting in his eagerness to get away with 
the finest bit of “copy” that ever his pencil wrote. 

The Premier turned to speak with Lord Warnham, but 
my friend Johns was not to be delayed, even by the dis- 
cussion of the nation’s peril. If the Archangel had sud- 
denly appeared he would have calmly “taken a note” of 
how such an occurrence affected the onlookers. 

“Is there anything more I can say, your Lordship?” 
he asked, impatiently interrupting their conversation. 

“No, I think not at present,” Lord Warnham answered. 

“If you have any further statement to make, I shall 
hold myself in readiness,” he said, the journalistic spirit 
of greed being aroused to have the whole of this exclusive 
information to himself. 

“We will send for you if we have anything further to 
communicate,” Lord Warnham answered, and wishing 
him good evening, intimated that at least for the present 
the interview was at an end. 

After he had left, it was desired, upon the suggestion 
of the Premier, to slightly amend one of the sentences 
used by Lord Warnham, and with that object I rushed 
after the excited interviewer. After a little search I found 
him in the small room behind the Press Gallery, dictating 
in breathless haste to the clerk, who sat resting his head 
on one hand while with the other he worked the tele- 
graph key. 

As I approached, I heard him exclaim in broad 
Scotch, — 

“Now, then. Ford, look sharp, my lad, look sharp ! Send 
this along, ‘Our representative has just interviewed the 
Marquis of Maybury and the Earl of Warnham on the 
situation. The exclusive information imparted is of the 
greatest possible importance, as it shows — ” 


A STATEMENT TO THE PRESS. 103 

Here I interrupted him, and having requested him to 
reconstruct the sentence, as desired by Lord Warnham, 
left him, and returned to where the two Ministers were 
still in earnest consultation. 

Having busied myself with some correspondence lying 
upon the Foreign Minister’s table, while the pair dis- 
cussed a critical point as to the instructions to be sent to 
Lord Worthorpe in Paris, there presently came another 
loud knock at the door. One of the clerks, who had 
rushed over from the Foreign Office, entered, bearing a 
telegraphic dispatch. 

“Where from?” inquired Lord Warnham, noticing the 
paper in his hand as he came in. 

“From St. Petersburg, your Lordship,” he answered, 
handing him the telegram. 

The Premier and Foreign Secretary read it through 
together in silence, expressions of satisfaction passing at 
once across both their countenances. 

“Then we need have no further apprehension,” ex- 
claimed the Premier at last, looking up at his colleague. 

“Apparently not,” observed Lord Warnham. “This is 
certainly sufficient confirmation of Worthorpe’s dis- 
patch,” and he tossed it across to the table whereat I sat, 
at the same time dismissing the clerk who had brought 
it. 

Taking up the telegram, I saw at a glance it was from 
our secret agent in the Russian Foreign Office, and that 
it had been re-transmitted from Hamburg. Although he 
had stated that all cipher messages were refused, this was 
in our private code, and its transcription, written beneath, 
was as follows: — 

“Remarkable development of situation has occurred. 
Ministers held a Council this afternoon, and after confer- 
ring with the Tzar, the latter decided to withdraw his 
proclamation of war, which was to be issued to-night. 
The reason for this sudden decision to preserve peace is 
a mystery, but the Tzar left half-an-hour ago on his jour- 
ney south, two of the Ministers have left for their coun- 
try seats, and telegraphic orders have been issued coun- 
termanding the military preparations, therefore it is 


104 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


certain that all idea of war is entirely abandoned. Im- 
mediately at the conclusion of the Council, a telegram 
was sent to the Russian Minister in Paris, informing him 
of the decision not to commence hostilities against Eng- 
land. The Novoe Vremya, in order to allay public feel- 
ing, is to be prosecuted for publishing false news.” 

When I had read this astounding dispatch, congratu- 
lating myself that, after all, our country need not fear a 
foreign foe, I sat listening to the discussion between the 
two great statesmen. The Premier advocated an im- 
mediate statement in the House in order to reassure the 
public, but Lord Warnham, with that love of secrecy ap- 
parent in all his actions, personal or political, was stren- 
uously opposed to such a course. 

“Let us wait until to-morrow,” he said. “To-night the 
papers will publish special editions containing the inter- 
view we have just given the Press representative, and this 
certainly ought to calm the crowd outside.” He spoke 
with a sneer of contempt of the multitude of excited 
citizens in fear of their lives and property. 

“But they are patriots, many of them, Warnham,” the 
Premier pnotested. “Who have placed us in power but 
that public?” 

“Oh, of course,” the other snapped impatiently. “You 
go in for popularity with the masses. I don’t. I’ve never 
been popular, not even in my own Department. But I 
can’t help it. I do my duty, and perhaps it is my very 
unpopularity that has secured me a reputation as head 
of Foreign Affairs.” 

“It may be, Warnham. It may be,” said the Premier, 
slowly. “But you are more popular than you imagine.” 

“In the Press, yes. These modern journals will lick 
the boots of anybody in power. It is not as it used to 
be in the old days, when you and I received a sound 
rating nearly every morning in The Times.” 

“I do not allude to the Press, but contend that you are 
popular with the public. You would increase that pop- 
ularity by allowing a statement to be made to-night.” 

“Let them wait until the morning,” he growled. “I 
haven’t the slightest wish to be regarded as the people’s 


A STATEMENT TO THE PRESS. 105 

savior. An immediate statement will appear too much 
like a bid for cheap notoriety.” 

“Is it not your duty to the people to allay their appre- 
hensions of a coming war?” 

‘Tt is my duty to Her Majesty alone,” he exclaimed, 
suddenly remembering that he had forgotten to dispatch 
the reassuring news to Osborne, and turning, he there- 
upon dictated to me a telegram, which I quickly reduced 
to cipher. 

“Then you decline to allow any explanation to be 
given?” said the Premier, in a tone of reproach, stroking 
his full beard thoughtfully. “You would go home com- 
fortably to bed and allow these thousands of half-scared 
citizens to remain in fear and doubt throughout the 
night.” 

“Why not?” he laughed. “I tell you I am unpopular, 
therefore a little secrecy more or less does not matter. If 
a Foreign Minister allowed the Press and public to know 
all his doings, how could diplomacy be conducted? The 
first element of success in dealing with foreign affairs is 
to preserve silence, and not allow one’s self to be drawn.” 

“But in this instance silence is quite unnecessary,” ex- 
claimed the Prime Minister, growing impatient at the 
dogged persistence of his eccentric colleague, whose de- 
light was to be designated as harsh, unrelenting and as- 
cetic. In private life Lord Warnham lived almost alone 
in his great, gloomy mansion, scarcely seen by any other 
person save his valet, the telegraph clerk and myself. 
Some said a strange romance in his youth had soured 
him, causing him to become misanthropic and eccen- 
tric; but it was always my opinion that the blow which 
fell upon him years ago, the early death of his young and 
beautiful wife, whom he loved intensely, was responsible 
for his slavish devotion to duty, his eccentricity, and the 
cool cynicism with which he regarded everybody, from 
his Sovereign to his secretary. As a Foreign Minister, 
every Government in Europe admired, yet feared him. 
He was, without doubt, the most shrewd and clever states- 
man the present century had known. 

“I shall preserve silence until to-morrow,” he said, de- 
cisively, at last. 


I06 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

‘‘If Her Majesty were consulted, she would, I feel sure, 
advocate an immediate declaration of the exact position 
of affairs,” Lord Maybury said. “She has the welfare of 
her people at heart. Remember, both you and I are her 
servants.” 

“Of course, of course,” he said, commencing to pace 
the room slowly. “Well,” he added, after a pause, “sup- 
pose we made a statement in the Commons to-night, and 
to-morrow we find the outlook still threatening and 
gloomy — what then?” 

“Listen!” cried the Prime Minister, at last losing pa- 
tience, and throwing open the window wide. “Listen! 
The people of London are clamoring for news. Give it 
to them, and let them depart.” 

“They’ll be able to read it in the papers presently. Let 
them pay their pennies for it,” he sneered. 

“But that is not official,” the Premier argued, and be- 
fore his colleague had time to reply, the messenger sta- 
tioned outside the door entered, bearing a telegram, 
which he took to Lord Warnham. 

“The representative of Reuter’s Agency has brought 
this telegram, just received from St. Petersburg, and de- 
sires to know whether you have any confirmation of the 
abandonment of the proposed hostilities against us,” the 
man said. 

“Oh, tell him I have nothing to communicate,” cried 
his Lordship, hastily. “And, look here, don’t bother me 
again with any inquiries from the Press.” 

“Very well, your Lordship,” the messenger answered, 
and at once withdrew. 

“Why not make an official declaration?” the Marquis 
urged. “It would avoid a great deal of unnecessary 
worry and anxiety.” 

For a long time the Foreign Minister held out, until at 
length he became convinced by Lord Maybury’s forcible 
arguments in favor of publicity, and gave his sanction to a 
statement being made in the House of Commons. Pres- 
ently we all three proceeded there, and at once the news 
spread like wildfire, within Parliament and without, that 
the latest news from St. Petersburg was to be officially 
announced. From the glass swing-door of the Press 


A STATEMENT TO THE PRESS. 107 

gallery I watched the House rapidly fill to overflowing, 
even to its galleries, and when all had assembled the ex- 
citement for about ten minutes was intense. It was a 
memorable scene, more impressive, perhaps, than any of 
the many that have taken place within those somber- 
paneled walls. 

Presently, prefaced by the Speaker’s loud “Order-r-r! 
Order!” a slim, gray-haired figure rose from the Govern- 
ment bench and explained that the news contained in the 
Novoe Vremya was entirely false, and assured the House 
that war had not been, and would not be, declared against 
England. 

The final sentences of this welcome announcement were 
lost in a terrific outburst of applause. So excited were 
some of the younger members that they tossed their hats 
high in the air like schoolboys, and the vociferous cheer- 
ing of the Foreign Secretary was continued, loud and 
long, notwithstanding the Speaker’s dignified and formal 
efforts to suppress it. The scene was the most enthusias- 
tic and stirring that I had ever witnessed, but even this 
was eclipsed by the terrific enthusiasm I found prevailing 
among the multitude when, a quarter of an hour later, I 
fought my way through the throng to gaze outside. 

The great concourse of citizens, wildly-excited, were 
almost mad with delight. Publicly, from the steps of St. 
Stephen’s Hall, the official statement had been shouted, 
and the multitude sent up such an outburst of applause 
that it echoed far and wide from the dark walls of Parlia- 
ment and Abbey, church and hospital. The more en- 
thusiastic ones yelled themselves hoarse with joyfull 
shouts, while others started to sing “God Save the 
Queen” until, taken up by all, the National Anthem 
echoed through the streets again and again. Then cheer 
upon cheer was given for “Warnham” and for “Good 
old Maybury,” the women joining in honoring England’s 
greatest statesman. It was popularly believed that by 
the efforts of these two men war had been averted, and 
it was not therefore surprising when they both left to- 
gether and entered a carriage to drive to Downing 
Street, that the crowd unharnessed the horses, and fifty 
stalwart patriots dragged the carriage in triumph to its 


io8 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


destination, while such an ovation was accorded them 
on every side, that even the excitement of the declaration 
of the poll at their election was paltry in comparison. 

I sat with them on the carriage, and as we were 
dragged onward through the dense, surging crowd, the 
Marquis turned to the Foreign Minister and exclaimed, 
with a smile, — 

“Surely you can never regard yourself as unpopular 
after this?” 

“Ah!” exclaimed the other, sadly, with a heavy sigh. 
“It is you they are cheering, not myself. The people call 
you ‘good old Maybury,’ but they have never called me 
‘good old Warnham,’ and will never do so. I am still 
unpopular, and shall be always.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

SONIA. 

Notwithstanding official assurances that no alarm need 
be felt at the political outlook, the popular excitement, 
fostered by a sensational Press, abated but slowly. On 
the morning following the memorable scene in the House 
of Commons, a great panic occurred on the Stock Ex- 
change, and it was fully a week ere confidence was re- 
stored. Meanwhile, at Lord Warnham’s dictation, I ex- 
changed 'constant communications with our ambassador 
in St. Petersburg, and although every endeavor was used 
to elucidate the mysterious reason why the Russian Gov- 
ernment so suddenly altered its tactics, it remained as in- 
explicable as the means whereby they had obtained the 
original of our secret convention with Germany. 

Both the London police and our secret agents in Rus- 
sia abandoned none of their activity, but all their efforts 
were to no purpose. The incident was a perfect enigma. 

Thus a month went by. Lord Warnham had slightly 
relaxed towards me as if, after all, he believed that I had 
spoken the truth, although he frequently, when vexed, 
would refer in uncomplimentary terms to what he called 
my “carelessness that nearly cost England her honor.” 
Indeed, although I had been reinstalled in the position of 


SONIA. 


109 


great trust I had previously held, mine was no enviable 
lot. The Foreign Minister was a man of moods, strange- 
ly eccentric, sometimes preserving a rigid silence for 
hours, and often working for long periods alone during 
the night, attending to unimportant dispatches that might 
have been answered by a lower-grade clerk. But it was 
his object always to know the exact work do^e in each 
department, and to be able to do it himself. Thus ' e was 
enabled to keep a more careful watch over e^^erything 
that went on, and was not, like the majority of Cabinet 
Ministers, a mere figure-head. Times without number I 
have gone to Berkeley Square early in the morning when 
some important matter of diplomacy has been in prog- 
ress, and found the gray, thin-faced peer still seated in 
his study, the blinds still down, the electric light still on, 
showing how he had worked on unconsciously through- 
out the whole night, and was quite unaware of dawn. His 
servants had strict orders never to disturb him, even for 
meals, hence, when he was busy, he frequently spent 
many hours in his chair, regardless of day or night. 

These periods of intense mental strain would, however, 
be followed by exasperating irritability of such a charac- 
ter that I often feared to utter a word lest he should break 
out into a fierce ebullition of anger. At those times he 
would scatter broadcast the most severe censures on all 
and sundry, sparing neither ambassador nor consul, so 
fierce was his wrath. Knowing this, I would sometimes, 
after writing an abusive dispatch at his dictation, put it 
aside and, instead of forwarding it, accidentally overlook 
it. Then, next day, he would almost invariably relent, 
and after deep thought, exclaim, — 

“Read me the copy of that dispatch I sent yesterday to 
Vienna, Deedes.” 

“Oh,” I would answer, as if suddenly recollecting, “I 
quite forgot to forward it, we were so busy yesterday.” 

“Ah, too late now! too late!” he would grumble, 
feigning annoyance, yet secretly pleased. “Destroy it, 
Deedes; destroy it.” 

Afterwards he would dictate a more temperate and less 
offensive letter, which the messenger leaving London 
that night would carry in his valise. 


no 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


One morning, towards the end of July, I received a 
strangely-worded letter, written in a foreign hand, ask- 
ing me to call at an address in Pembroke Hoad, Kensing- 
ton, and signed ‘‘Sonia.” The missive, which had been 
left at my flat by a commissionaire, stated that the mat- 
ter upon which the writer desired to see me was ex- 
tremely urgent, and contained a request that I would 
telegraph a reply. This I did, accepting the appointment, 
for, on reflection, I had a very dim recollection of having, 
at some time or other, written officially to someone 
named “Sonia,” and the letter aroused curiosity within 
me. 

That night, at the time she named, I found myself 
before a large, substantial-looking detached house, sit- 
uated in the quiet, rather unfrequented thoroughfare off 
Earl’s Court Road, a house which, to my excited imag- 
ination, bore external evidence of mystery within. Why 
such thought should seize me I know not. Perhaps it 
was because the writer of the letter was unknown, and 
the object of my visit at present unexplained; neverthe- 
less I entered the small garden that divided the house 
from the roadway, and, ascending the steps, rang the bell. 
My summons was immediately answered by a neat maid, 
to whom I gave my card, and next moment I was ushered 
into a well-furnished drawing-room, dimly lit by one tall, 
shaded lamp, the light of which was insufficient to illu- 
minate the whole room. 

For a few moments I remained alone in wonder, when 
suddenly the door opened, and there entered an ex- 
tremely pretty girl, scarcely out of her teens, dark-haired, 
with clear-cut features, bright eyes, and a delicately- 
rounded chin. It struck me, however, even before she 
spoke, that in her face was a strange expression of un- 
utterable sadness, a look that told of long suffering and 
intense agony of mind. Her mannerisms were those of a 
foreigner, her chic was that of the true Parisienne, her 
dress of black silk crepon was plainly but well made, 
and the fact that she spoke in broken French was, next 
second, conclusive. 

“Ah! You have come, m’sieur. You are indeed very 


SONIA. 


Ill 


good,” she exclaimed, with a charming accent, her skirt 
rustling as she advanced to greet me. 

“I am at your service, mademoiselle,” I answered, 
bowing, at the same time accepting the seat she offered. 

“Well,” she commenced, with a smile, slowly sinking 
into an arm-chair near me, “when I wrote to you I 
feared you would not come. You have been so good to 
me already that I fear to ask any further favor.” 

“I must ask your pardon, mademoiselle,” I said, “but 
I really am unaware that I have ever rendered you any 
service.” 

“What, do you not remember?” she cried. “You, who 
were so good to my father and myself; you, to whom we 
both owed our lives.” 

“I certainly have some hazy recollection of your 
name,” I answered, puzzled, “but try how I will, I cannot 
recollect in what connection it has come before me.” 

“Do you not remember the case of the refugee, Anton 
Korolenko, the man who, after being hounded all over 
Europe, in Vienna, in Madrid, in Paris, by the agents pro- 
vocateurs of the Secret Police, found an asylum in Lon- 
don?” she inquired, surprised. “They said we need not 
fear the Okhrannoe Otdelenie here, in your free England, 
but no sooner had we arrived than, owing to the treach- 
ery of one of our brotherhood, a warrant for our extra- 
dition was issued by General Sekerzhinski, chief of the 
Department in St. Petersburg. News of this was tele- 
graphed to us, and I applied to your Minister for pro- 
tection. You yourself saw me and gave me your prom- 
ise of assistance, a promise which you kept; the warrant 
was returned to Russia unexecuted, and you thus saved 
us from the fate we dreaded.” 

“Ah, yes,” I answered quickly. “Of course, I re- 
member now. It is fully two years ago ; but you have so 
altered that I scarcely knew you.” 

“I was a girl then,” she smiled. “Now I feel quite a 
woman. Since I saw you last I have sustained a be- 
reavement. My poor father, is, alas! dead.” 

“Dead!” I echoed sympathetically. 

“Yes,” she sighed, with bitterness. “He died of a 
broken heart. On the day we escaped from St. Peters- 


II2 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


burg, my mother, who was perfectly innocent, had un- 
fortunately fallen into the drag net of the police. She 
was imprisoned for six months, then sent to Siberia, but 
died of cold and fever on the road there. Her tragic 
end proved such a terrible blow to my father that, even 
here in safety, he grew morose, his health, already broken 
by long years of imprisonment, failed, and six months 
ago he died, and I was left alone.” 

“Your life is indeed a sad one, mademoiselle,” I said, 
for I well remembered the touching story she related 
when, a mere girl, pale-faced and agitated, she came to 
implore the protection of the British Government on be- 
half of her aged father. She had, with tears in her dark, 
brilliant eyes, told me a narrative of systematic perse- 
cution almost incredible ; how her father, a wealthy mer- 
chant, having fallen into disfavor with General Seker- 
zhinski, the chief of Secret Police in St. Petersburg, that 
official had formed a cunningly-devised plan to entrap 
him into a political conspiracy. She admitted that at one 
time, during the Terror that culminated in the murder 
of Alexander II., her father had participated in the revo- 
lutionary movement, and had spent eight years of soli- 
tary confinement in the Peter-Paul Fortress. Although 
he had long ago renounced all revolutionary ideas, it 
was, of course, easy enough for an all-powerful official 
like Sekerzhinski to discover evidence against him. The 
agents provocateurs were quickly at work, with the re- 
sult that orders were in a few days issued for the arrest 
of Korolenko for the murder of a woman in a low quar- 
ter of the city, and for the apprehension of his wife and 
their pretty daughter, Sonia, as accomplices. The rea- 
son of this allegation was plain. If the General had only 
alleged a political offence his victims could not be extra- 
dited from a foreign country, while for an ordinary crime 
they could. Korolenko’s wife was arrested while shop- 
ping in the Nevski Prospekt, but Sonia and her father, 
fortunately, obtained word from a friend of theirs in the 
secret service, and fled, succeeding in escaping from St. 
Petersburg into Finland, and after weeks of starvation 
and terrible hardships found themselves in Stockholm, 
whence they went to Hamburg. Here they narrowly 


SONIA. 


I13 

escaped arrest by the German police, but succeeded in 
getting to Vienna, and thence to Venice, Marseilles, Ma- 
drid, and afterwards to Paris, where they had heard a 
large colony of Russian refugees resided. After two 
days, however, owing to a fact they ascertained, they fled 
to London. Here they believed themselves safe until 
one day they received another telegram from their friend 
in the secret police, warning them that a request for their 
extradition was on its way to London. It was then, in 
desperation, that Sonia came to crave an interview with 
Lord Warnham, and I had seen her on his behalf. 

Her story of wrong, hatred, and heartless persecution 
I have only here briefly outlined, but during the half- 
hour she had sat in the waiting-room at the Foreign 
Office relating it to me in detail she spoke with such 
earnestness that I was convinced of the truth, and re- 
solved to assist her. Urging her to be assured that I 
would do all that lay in my power, she had at last dried 
her tears, and grasping my hand as she went out, had 
said, — 

“I shall never forget your kindness to us, m’sieur. We 
are alone, friendless, forsaken, hounded down by a man 
who has sworn to ruin my father and his family. That 
you can protect us, I am confident. You can save us 
from the mines — nay, you can save our lives, if you will. 
I appeal to you, our only friend. Assist us, and you will 
ever receive the thanks from one who is to-day on the 
verge of despair and suicide.” 

I promised, and she went away hopeful and confident. 
But to secure their immunity from arrest was by no 
means an easy matter. Fortunately, however, I was on 
excellent terms with the Secretary of the Russian Em- 
bassy, and having obtained the sanction of Lord Warn- 
ham, who was always chivalrous wherever women were 
concerned, treating them with a charming old-world 
courtesy, I set about attaining my object, securing it at 
last, but being compelled in turn to promise my friend 
assistance in an important matter of diplomacy. The 
warrant was next day returned to Russia unexecuted, 
and Sonia and her father were free. 

From her I had received a brief note in response to my 
8 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


II4 

intimation of the withdrawal of the warrant, apparently 
hastily written, but thanking me, and declaring that they 
both owed their future happiness to my exertions. For a 
few days I reflected upon the strange drama of real life 
that had been enacted, then the circumstances passed out 
of my mind. 

Now, as she sat before me, older and yet more beauti- 
ful, gazing into my eyes with that intense, wistful look 
that had attracted me when first we had met, all her 
tragic story came back to me vividly, and I was not sur- 
prised at her deep sorrow at the loss of her father she had 
loved so dearly. 

^‘So you desire my assistance,” I exclaimed presently, 
after she had been explaining how lonely she was in exile 
from her friends. 

“Yes,” she said slowly, with emphasis. “But first tell 
me one thing. You are acquainted with a woman named 
Ella Laing. Do you know her past?” 


CHAPTER XV. 

BEYOND RECALL. 

“Really your question is a curious one,” I exclaimed, 
smiling, although inwardly I resented her intrusion upon 
my affairs. 

“Do not think I intended to be unduly inquisitive,” my 
youthful hostess said quickly, fidgeting with her golden 
bangle whereon a tiny bell tinkled musically as she 
moved, and glancing up at me with her dark, bright eyes. 

“Ella’s past can concern no one except herself,” I 
observed, rather puzzled. There was a strange, half-sus- 
picious expression in her face that I had not at first 
noticed. 

“If you intend to marry her it concerns you also, does 
it not?” she asked, in a quiet, grave voice. 

“Yes, of course,” I answered. “But how do you know 
I intend to marry her?” 


BEYOND RECALL. II5 

have heard so, and have seen you together,” she 
answered, rather evasively. 

“Well, let us come to the point at once,” I said, still 
smiling, and feigning to be amused. “Tell me what ob- 
jection there is to her. Why do you inquire about her 
past?” 

“Because it is a mystery,” she replied, regarding me 
calmly, the strange glint in her penetrating eyes increas- 
ing my mistrust. 

“In what way?” I inquired. I had known Mrs. Laing 
and Ella for over a year, and certainly nothing I had 
learnt regarding their antecedents had excited my sus- 
picion. The Yorkshire Laings are a county family, and 
Edward Laing, Ella’s father, had been the head of the 
great shipping firm that has its headquarters in Hull, 
and is well known in the North Sea and Atlantic trades. 
At his death the concern was turned into a company, 
and Mrs. Laing and her daughter traveled for nearly 
three years, returning to London shortly before I met 
them. The statement that Ella’s past was mysterious was 
certainly puzzling, therefore I added, “When you make 
an allegation, I really think it is only fair that you should 
substantiate it.” 

She shrugged her shoulders with a foreign mannerism 
that was charming, exclaiming in her broken English, — 

“Ah, you understand me not, m’sieur. I speak not 
your language with politeness. Well, it is, oh, so very 
difficult!” 

“Do you tell me that Ella Laing is not what she repre- 
sents herself to be?” I inquired eagerly. 

“Ah, no,” she answered. “I ask m’sieur if he knows of 
her past. M’sieur was once good to me, very good. I 
forget never those who to me are generous.” 

“But your words contain a hidden meaning,” I said, » 
dropping into French, hoping thereby to induce her to 
place my mind at rest. 

“Yes, I am well aware of that,” she answered, with 
volubility. “You love her; you have offered her mar- 
riage — the woman who is your most bitter foe!” 

“What do you mean? That Ella is my enemy?” 1 
cried, dismayed. 


ii6 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


Her full, red lips parted in a silvery peal of laughter, 
displaying an even set of pearly teeth, as, throwing back 
her handsome head, she exclaimed, — 

“Ah! I expected it would cause you pain to learn the 
truth. Yet, after all, is it not best to know now, instead 
of hereafter?” 

“In what way is she my enemy?” I asked, bending for- 
ward to her and transfixing her with my eyes. 

She remained silent, merely giving her shoulders a 
slight shrug, sighing the while. 

“A moment ago you told me that because I once per- 
formed you a service you intended to render me one in 
return. Come, tell me the truth,” I urged. 

Again she sighed, but at last said, “The truth has al- 
ready been forced upon you, I should think.” 

“In what manner?” 

“By the death of your friend, Dudley Ogle,” she re- 
plied, in a half whisper, the strange look of almost mur- 
derous hatred again showing in her eyes. 

“Well,” I said, “I can see nothing in that tragic in- 
cident to lead me to any conclusion that Ella is my en- 
emy.” 

“Love is blind, of course,” she answered, rather con- 
temptuously. “Your blindness extends apparently even 
to the theft of the important dispatch entrusted to your 
care.” 

Her words amazed me, for, with the exception of Lord 
Warnham, the Marquis of Maybury, and Frayling at 
Scotland Yard, no living person knew of the theft of the 
secret convention. 

“How, pray, are you aware that any document has 
been stolen?” I asked quickly, my mind at once filled 
with suspicion. The fact that this girl was a Russian was 
in itself sufficient to place me at once upon my guard. 

“I have heard so,” she answered, with a mysterious 
smile. 

“Well, and what do you allege?” I inquired, keeping 
my eyes fixed upon her. 

“Allege!” she cried. “Why, nothing. I have merely 
asked you a simple question, whether you are aware of 


BEYOND RECALL. 1 1? 

the past of Ella Laing, and you have not answered. You 
are silent.” 

“I know sufficient of her past to love her,” I answered, 
determined that the words of this strange-mannered girl 
should not arouse greater suspicion than that which 
already dwelt in my mind. 

“Love her! Bah! You will hate her when you learn 
the truth,” she cried, with a gesture of disgust. 

“Then tell me,” I cried impatiently. “Why should I 
hate her?” 

“No,” she said slowly, shaking her head, and slightly 
raising her shoulders. “I make no reflections. If you 
love her — well, I suppose you desire that your fool’s par- 
adise should last as long as possible.” 

“My fool’s paradise, as you term it, will, I trust, last 
always,” I said resentfully, for her manner had suddenly 
changed, and she treated me reproachfully, with a famil- 
iarity that was as surprising as it was annoying. 

“Alas! not always, I fear,” she smiled, as if pitying my 
simplicity. “Your present paradise will soon be a verit- 
able hell.” 

“You speak candidly, at least,” I said, angered at her 
words. “But I did not call here to listen to libelous alle- 
gations of which there are no proofs.” 

“No proofs?” she echoed. “Ah, do not be so confi- 
dent, m’sieur. You have no knowledge of the character 
of the woman you love, or you would not say this. I do 
not wish you to follow my advice; I do not urge you to 
listen to my words. I only warn you because you have 
been my best friend,” and she gazed straight into my eyes 
with an earnestness that was intense. 

“You warn me. Of what?” 

“Of Ella, the woman who has apparently fascinated 
you as she has done others,” and she sighed, as if mem- 
ories were painful. 

“A pretty woman may often unconsciously fascinate 
many men before meeting the man she marries,” I said, 
as calmly as I could. 

“Unconsciously, yes,” she answered. “But there are 
some who use the beauty that their Maker has bestowed 
upon them to allure their victims.” 


Il8 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

“You anticipate I am doomed, then?” I laughed. 

She regarded me gravely for an instant, then said, in a 
voice quiet and low, — 

“I do not think — I know. The mysterious death that 
overtook your friend Dudley Ogle should have overtaken 
you instead. But for an amazing coincidence, by which 
your life was saved and his taken, you would, ere this, 
have been in your grave.” 

“And my assassin would have been the woman I love, 
I suppose, you are going to tell me?” I observed, amused 
at her melodramatic manner and the absurdity of the 
idea. 

“No, I leave you to discover the truth,” she answered, 
arching her dark brows, a shadow of annoyance crossing 
her refined features at that moment. 

“You are apparently well acquainted with Miss 
Laing,” I said, after a long pause. 

“I know her,” she admitted abruptly. 

“Then, as I refuse to listen further to any charges 
against her of which you can give me no corroboration, it 
may be best for me to bring her here to hear your allega- 
tions, even at risk of creating a scene. You said you 
intended to render me a service, and by facing her you 
can.” 

“No, no,” she cried, suddenly jumping from her chair 
and laying her hand upon my arm in earnestness. “She 
does not know I am in London; she must never know, 
otherwise our plans will be spoilt. Do not mention my 
name to her; now promise me,” she implored. “Promise 
me, and I will render you the assistance you will require 
ere long. The secret knowledge I possess enables me to 
give you warning. Remember that what I have said is 
between one friend and another.” 

Through my perturbed mind there surged vivid recol- 
lections of recent events, of Ella’s beauty, and of the in- 
scrutable mystery surrounding her. It was amazing, to 
say the least, that this handsome girl, whose life had been 
so romantic and full of tragedy, should thus make veiled 
allegations and denounce as vile and worthless the 
woman I so deeply loved. That she had some ulterior 
motive was, of course, apparent, but although I debated 


BEYOND RECALL. 


II9 

within myself its probable cause, I utterly failed to arrive 
at any satisfactory conclusion. One fact was, however, 
impressed upon me during our subsequent conversation 
— namely, that Sonia was in possession of the secret that 
Ella withheld from me. That the pretty Russian had 
known Mrs. Laing and Ella intimately I could not doubt 
from what she told me regarding them, yet I did not 
fail to detect in her voice a harshness whenever she spoke 
of them, the more so when she mentioned the name of 
my well-beloved. Once, in trying to determine the 
cause of this, I felt inclined to attribute it to jealousy, but 
when I reflected that I had. seen Sonia only once before, 
and that I knew absolutely nothing of her except what 
she herself had told me, I scouted the idea. , 

It was plain, too, that she had been intimately ac- 
quainted with Dudley, for she spoke of him familiarly, 
smiled at his little eccentricities, and expressed the most 
heartfelt regret at his mysterious and tragic end. Times 
without number, when she had sunk back into her chair, 
I tried to induce her to impart to me something more re- 
garding the woman I loved, but she declined. She 
warned me by constant utterances to be circumspect, but 
regarding the past preserved a silence rigid and severe. 

Presently, as my eyes wandered around the well-fur- 
nished room, I noticed, standing upon the piano, a pho- 
tograph frame of oxydized silver containing a portrait. I 
looked at it astounded, for it was the likeness of my dead 
friend. She noticed my attention attracted by it, aqd 
rising in silence, brought it across to me, and taking it 
from its frame, said, — 

“This, perhaps, will convince you that Mr. Ogle was 
my friend.’’ 

I took the portrait from her hand, and read on the back 
in his well-known handwriting the words, — “From Dud- 
ley to dearest Sonia.” 

No copy of this portrait had I before seen. From the 
suit of light tweed he wore I knew that he could not have 
been photographed longer than a month prior to his 
death, and it seemed likely that he had had this taken 
specially for her. Although fond of telling me of his 
flirtations, he had never spoken of his acquaintance with 


120 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


this pretty refugee, yet from her remarks I knew that 
they had been friends for several years. 

Long and earnestly I looked at the picture, then 
handed it back to her without comment. Truth to tell, 
even this counterfeit presentment filled me with a fierce 
hatred against him, for had not Lord Maybury been ab- 
solutely correct in remarking that everything pointed to 
the conclusion that he was a spy? Indeed, his association 
with this pretty Russian, who had perhaps fascinated 
him, was another fact which seemed now to confirm my 
increasing suspicions. It was a romantic story that 
Sonia told me, but what evidence did I possess that she 
was actually a political refugee? The warrant issued 
from St. Petersburg for the arrest of her father and her- 
self was for the murder of a foreign woman who, ac- 
cording to the depositions that my friend at the Russian 
Embassy showed me, had been enticed to a house in a 
low quarter of the city and strangled with a silken cord. 
No hint had been given that the pair “wanted” were 
“apostles of dynamite,” and I now remembered that 
when I had suggested it to my friend he laughed, de- 
claring that I was utterly mistaken. I recollected that 
the words he used were, — 

“They are not revolutionists, but a precocious pair of 
criminals who, from time to time, have made enormous 
coups. No doubt the charming girl has told you some 
ingenious fiction or other about her father’s patriotism, 
but I should advise you to take it all with the proverbial 
grain of salt. They are the only two of an utterly un- 
scrupulous gang now remaining at liberty, and if your 
Government will give them up, we will rid society of 
them by burying them deep in one of our Siberian mines. 
But as you have come with this offer to readjust the lit- 
tle diplomatic friction in return for their liberty, I will 
urge my chief to accept it; nevertheless, do not forget 
that this action of yours will set at liberty a pair of the 
most fearless and ingenious harpies in Europe.” 

As I sat opposite her, watching her seductive smiles, 
these words recurred to me, and I wondered whether the 
allegations of the Secretary of the Embassy were true. 
I recollected also, when, with tears in those brilliant eyes. 


BEYOND RECALL. 


I2I 


she had besought me to intercede on her father’s behalf, 
how she told me distinctly that Sekerzhinski, the Chief 
of Police, had made charges against them cruel and 
false. Certainly when she had come to me humbly im- 
ploring the protection of the British Government against 
the persecution of her accusers she had none of the 
swagger of the adventuress. Even now, dressed in plain 
mourning, with no jewelry except the single golden ban- 
gle which I remembered she had worn when we before 
met, I could not bring myself to think that she v/as ac- 
tually the desperate criminal that my friend Paul Ver- 
blioudovitch would have me believe. 

Knowing, as I did, how the Tzar’s emissaries fol- 
lowed and captured by all manner of subtle devices those 
suspected of revolutionary conspiracy, I was again con- 
vinced, as I had been two years ago, that Sonia was a 
conspirator against the life of his Majesty. She cer- 
tainly was not a common criminal. As she chatted to me, 
young, refined, sad-eyed, there was in her face unmis- 
takable traces of anxiety and suffering. Finding that she 
absolutely refused to say anything further regarding the 
woman I adored, I began to question her as to her own 
happiness and future. 

“Ah,” she sighed, “I am lonely, dull, and unhappy now 
that my father is no longer alive. Together we shared 
months of terrible hardships, of semi-starvation, hiding 
in the frozen wilds of the Norths and ever pushing for- 
ward through that great lonely land towards our goal 
of freedom. Often and often we were compelled to exist 
on roots and leaves, and more than once we were com- 
pelled to face death,” and she shuddered. “The recollec- 
tion of that terrible journey is to me like some hideous 
nightmare, for to escape detection we often traveled by 
night, in terror of the wolves, and guided only by the 
brilliant stars high in the bright, frosty sky. The knowl- 
edge of our fate if caught — the mines in far Siberia — 
held us in dread and hastened our footsteps. Thus, clad 
only in tattered rags, we went forward shivering, know- 
ing that to halt meant certain death. Not until after 
three long months of suffering did we reach Stockholm, 
where we once more awakened to the joys of life, but 


122 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

then, alas! they had in them the dregs of bitterness. Two 
days after regaining our liberty, the news reached us that 
my poor mother had died at the roadside while chained 
to a gang of desperate convicts on their long and weary 
journey to Lake Baikal, the most dreaded district in all 
Asiatic Russia. The Almighty spared her the horrors 
of the fever-infected etapes and the gloom and torture 
of the mines, but from that moment my poor father, 
heart-bVoken, grew careless of the future, and it was only 
for my sake that he endeavored to elude the bloodhounds 
of the Tzar.’’ 

“Do you live here, in this house, alone?” I asked. 

“No,” she replied. “I have Petrouchka and his wife 
Akoulina, who were our servants in St. Petersburg for 
many years, in addition to the English maid who admit- 
ted you.” 

“Then you are not quite alone,” I said. “Besides, you 
ought not to be unhappy, for you have enough money to 
live comfortably, and you should try and forget your sad 
bereavement.” 

“Alas! I cannot forget,” she said, still speaking in 
French. “It is impossible. I am exiled here in your 
country, while all my relatives and friends are so far 
away. I cannot go into your society, for I have no 
chaperon; besides, English puzzles me so. I shall never 
learn it, never. Oh, it is so difficult.” 

“Yes,” I admitted, laughing. “But not so puzzling as 
your own Russian, with all its bewildering letters.” 

She smiled, but there was a touch of wistful sadness in 
her handsome face when, after a slight pause, she looked 
at me earnestly, saying, — 

“It was because I am so lonely and unhappy that I 
asked you to come here to-t-ight.” 

“To be your companion — eh?” I observed, laughing. 
“Well, what you have told me regarding Ella Laing is 
scarcely calculated to set a man’s mind at rest.” 

“Ah, no. I have only told you in order that you should 
be forewarned. Let that pass; yet remember the words 
I have uttered, proof of which you shall have some day. 
The fact is, I want you to do me a favor. I am tired of 
this exile from my friends ; I have no one as companion 


BEYOND RECALL. 


123 


except old Akoulina, and I want to return to Russia for a 
month or so to visit my relatives, and to transact some 
legal business connected with my poor father’s estate.” 

“But is it safe for you to return?” I hazarded. 

“Not unless you will procure me a passport. This you 
can do if you will,” she answered earnestly. 

“You would be arrested on the frontier,” I said. “Is it 
wise to run such risk?” 

“Of course the passport must not be in my own name,” 
she went on. “You alone can obtain one from your 
friend at the Embassy.” 

I shook my head dubiously, feeling assured that I 
could never induce Verblioudovitch to issue a false 
passport to a woman he had denounced as a dangerous 
criminal. 

“Ah, you will try, will you not?” she implored, rising 
and gripping my arm. “It is necessary that I should be 
in St. Petersburg within fourteen days from now, in order 
to give instructions regarding my late father’s property. 
His brother, my uncle, is endeavoring to cheat me of it, 
and I must return, or I shall lose everything. I shall be 
ruined utterly.” 

She spoke so rapidly, and upon her pale face was a look 
so wistful, that I felt assured she was in earnest. Hers 
was not the face of a malefactor, but rather that of a 
modest girl whose spirit had been broken by her bereave- 
ment. 

“I obtained your immunity from arrest here in Eng- 
land, it is true,” I said. “But I fear that in my efforts to 
obtain for you a false passport I shall fail. If the police 
discover you within Russian territory, then nothing can 
save you from Siberia.” 

“But they will not find me,” she cried hastily. “Obtain 
for me a passport that will carry me across the frontier, 
and within an hour I shall be as dead to the police as the 
stones in the wall.” 

This expression she had involuntarily let drop struck 
me as distinctly curious. It certainly was not such a 
phrase as would be used by any but a constant fugitive 
from justice. Indeed, it was really the parlance of the 
habitual criminal. Again I remained silent in doubt. 


124 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“Will you try?” she asked, intensely in earnest. 

“If it is your wish I will try,” I answered. “But only 
in return for one service.” 

“Well?” she inquired sharply. 

“That when I bring you ‘he passport you will tell me 
truthfully and honestly the grounds whereon you allege 
that Ella Laing is my enemy.” 

She knit her brows for a few’ brief seconds, as if the 
possibility of my demand had never occurred to her. 
Then, suddenly smiling, she answered, extending her 
hand, — 

“It’s a bargain. But, remember, I must be in St. Pe- 
tersburg within fourteen days.” 

“I shall not forget,” I answered, with a sudden resolve 
to do my utmost to obtain the permit allowing this 
strange but handsome girl to re-enter her native land, 
and thus learn the truth regarding my well-beloved. “I 
shall call on Verblioudovitch to-morrow.” 

“You are good to me, m’sieur, very good,” she cried, 
joyfully. “In return, I will tell you one thing, even now. 
If you doubt what I say regarding the woman you love, 
look calmly into her face, pressing her hand affection- 
ately the while, and ask her if she knows anyone with 
diamond eyes.” 

“Is Diamond Eyes a pet name?” I inquired. I was 
puzzled, for I had a faint consciousness of having heard 
that designation before, but to whom applied I knew not. 

“Discover for yourself,” she answered, smiling. “I 
have given you the clue. Follow it, and seek the truth.” 

Many times during our subsequent conversation I be- 
sought her to tell me something further, but she would 
not, and at last, after remaining with her over an hour, I 
left, promising I would at once set about obtaining the 
passport she desired. Hers was a strange personality, 
yet I, by some vague intuition, felt myself on the verge of 
a discovery. I was convinced that she knew of the theft 
of the secret convention, and could, if she wished, impart 
to me some startling truth. 


ADVICE GRATIS. 


125 


CHAPTER XVL 
ADVICE GRATIS. 

Soon after noon next day I called at the Russian Em- 
bassy at Chesham House, and was ushered into the pri- 
vate room of my friend, Paul Verblioudovitch, the secre- 
tary to the urbane old gentleman who acted as the Tzar’s 
representative at the Court of St. James. It was a large 
but rather gloomy room, well stocked with books, con- 
taining a writing-table and several easy-chairs, into one 
of which I sank after the hall-porter, a gigantic, liveried 
Russian, had conducted me thither, and announced the 
immediate arrival of my official friend. 

While waiting, I reflected that my errand was scarcely 
one that would commend itself to the favor of Lord 
Warnham. Official relations between the Russian Em- 
bassy and the British Foreign Office, never very cordial, 
were, owing to our knowledge of the suppressed declara- 
tion of war, now seriously strained. Nevertheless, Paul 
and I were very intimate friends. I had first met him 
in St. Petersburg, where for six months I had occupied 
an unimportant post in the British Embassy. Being 
compelled to pay frequent visits to the Minister of For- 
eign Affairs, I was always seen by Verblioudovitch, an 
official who spoke excellent English. Then I left and 
returned to London under Lord Warnham, and for 
nearly two years entirely lost sight of him, until I was one 
day delighted to find he had been promoted as Secre- 
tary of Embassy in London. Since that time our friend- 
ship had been renewed, and we had spent many a pleas- 
ant evening together. 

“Ah, my dear fellow!” he cried, almost without any 
trace of accent, as he suddenly opened the door and in- 
terrupted my reflections. “You’re an early visitor,” he 
laughed, shaking hands cordially. “Well, what is it? A 
message from your indefatigable chief?” 


126 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“No, not exactly,” I smiled, sinking again into my 
comfortable chair as he walked to the opposite side of 
his writing-table, afterwards seating himself at it. He 
was a well-preserved man of about forty-five, tall, erect, 
of military bearing, with closely-cropped, dark hair, a 
well-trimmed moustache, and a face that was an index 
to his happy, contented disposition. The Tzar’s officials 
are supposed to be a set of the most stern, hard-hearted 
ruffians on earth, but there was certainly nothing of the 
heartless persecutor about him. Indeed, he was quite the 
reverse — a devil-may-care, easy-going fellow, who en- 
joyed a joke hugely, and when outside the somber walls 
of the Embassy was full of genuine good-humor and 
buoyant spirits. He may have been able to disguise his 
careless demeanor beneath the stern, strictly business- 
like manner of officialdom, but I, for one, had never seen 
him assume the loftiness of his position as secretary of 
the chief among the Embassies in London. 

“Our people at home have recently been playing an 
amusing little game at your expense, haven’t they?” he 
laughed, passing over to me his silver cigarette case and 
selecting one himself when I gave it back to him. 

“I believe they have,” I answered. 

“I would have given anything to have seen the look on 
your old chief’s face when first he heard that we were 
going to declare war,” he laughed. “How did he take it? 
You had a rough half-hour, I expect.” 

“Of course,” I smiled. “Things looked so serious.” 

“Yes, so they did,” he admitted, his face growing 
grave. “I quite expected that we should have to pack 
up our baggage and go back to St. Petersburg. The fact 
is it’s a puzzle to us why the Imperial declaration wasn’t 
actually published. A hitch somewhere, I suppose.” 

“Fortunately for us — eh?” I observed, lighting up 
calmly. He imported his own cigarettes, and they were 
always excellent. 

“Yes,” he answered, adding after a moment’s reflec- 
tion, “but why have you come to me now that we are 
officially at daggers drawn?” 

“Only officially are we bad friends,” I said. “Person- 
ally we shall be on good terms always, I hope, Paul. It 


ADVICE GRATIS. 127 

was because I know I can count upon your assistance 
that IVe come to ask you a favor.” 

“Ask away, old chap,” he said, deftly twisting his 
cigarette in his fingers, afterwards placing it between his 
lips. 

“I have a friend who wants to go to Russia, and desires 
a passport.” 

“Well, he can get one at the Consul-General’s office,” 
my friend answered, without removing his cigarette. “I’ll 
give you a note, if you like.” 

“No,” I said. “First, it is not a man who is going, 
but a woman; and, secondly, I want a passport vised by 
the Embassy in a name other than the real name of its 
bearer.” 

“Oh,” he exclaimed suspiciously, glancing straight at 
me. “Something shady, eh? Who’s the woman?” 

“Well, she’s hardly a woman yet,” I answered. “A • 
pretty girl who has lost her father and desires to return 
to her friends in St. Petersburg.” 

“What’s her name?” 

“You know her,” I said slowly. “I came to you on her 
behalf some time ago when a warrant was out for the 
arrest of her and her fathef. I — ” 

“Of course, I quite remember,” he answered quickly, 
interrupting me. “Anton Korolenko escaped with his 
daughter, that ingenious little nymph, Sonia, who came 
and pitched you a long, almost idyllic yarn, and you came 
here to intercede. I did as you requested and secured 
their freedom by endorsing the report of the agent of 
police told off to watch them by a statement that both 
father and daughter were dead. I then kept my promise 
by returning the warrant, but I tell you I narrowly es- 
caped getting into a devil of a scrape about it.” 

“But you can manage to give me a false passport for 
her, can’t you?” J urged. 

“Where’s her father? If he goes back their whole 
game will be given away.” 

“Her father is dead,” I answered. 

“Dead! Well, the grave is, I think, about the best 
place for such an enterprising old scoundrel, and as for 
his daughter, hang it, old chap, ten years in Nerchinsk 


128 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


wouldn’t hurt her. What story has she been telling you 
this time, eh?” he asked. 

“She is lonely without her father, and in order to 
secure her property, which is about to be seized by her 
uncle, she is bound to be in St. Petersburg within four- 
teen days.” 

“Fourteen days,” repeated my friend, reflectively. 
“Let’s see, to-day’s the twelfth,” and he made some rapid 
calculations upon his blotting-pad. “Well, what else?” 
he inquired, looking up at me keenly. 

“Nothing, except that she dare not return under her 
own name.” 

“I should scarcely think she’d better,” he laughed, 
“unless she wants to spend the remainder of her days in 
that rather uncomfortable hotel called Schlusselburg, 
where the beds are not aired, and there are no toilet- 
glasses. But, tell me,” he added gravely, a moment later, 
“why do you interest yourself in her welfare? She’s en- 
tertaining and rather pretty. I’ve been told, but surely 
you, who are engaged to that charming girl to whom 
you introduced me at the Gaiety one evening a few weeks 
ago, really ought not to associate yourself with Anton 
Korolenko’s daughter? She’s a criminal.” 

“I have an object,” I said briefly. 

^Every man says that when a girl has taken his fancy. 
I know the world, old fellow.” 

“But it so happens that I’ve not been captivated by her 
charms,” I retorted. 

“Well, my dear Geoffrey,” he said, in a tone of unusual 
gravity, “take my advice and keep away from her. Ever 
since you induced me to secure her her liberty, I have 
honestly regretted it, knowing as I do the terrible crimes 
alleged against the gang of which she and her villainous 
old father were prominent members.” 

“What kind of crimes were they?” 

“Everything, from picking pockets to murder,” he 
answered. “They stuck at nothing, so long as they se- 
cured the huge stakes for which they played. Has she 
been again weaving for your benefit any more of her 
tragic romances? She’d make a fortune as a novelist.” 

I paused in deep thought. 


ADVICE GRATIS. 


129 


'Truth to tell,” I said at last, "she has made an allega- 
tion against the woman I love.” 

"Against Ella Laing?” he exclaimed, a faint shadow of 
anger crossing his brow. "What has she said? Tell me; 
perhaps I can suggest a way of dealing with her,” he 
added quickly. "She’s most unscrupulous; her tongue is 
tipped with venom.” 

“She has given me to understand that Ella is an ad- 
venturess, and my most bitter enemy,” I blurted out sud- 
denly. 

He flung down his pen in anger, a fierce imprecation in 
Russian upon his lips. The reason of his sudden annoy- 
ance was a mystery, but his quick eyes noticed my 
amazement, and in an instant he assumed a calm de- 
meanor, saying, in a voice of reproach, — 

"So this woman, who has libeled Ella, you are striving 
to assist, eh? Well, what ground has she for her allega- 
tion?” 

"She will tell me only on one condition.” 

“And what is that?” 

"If I induce you to give her a false passport, and 
promise not to inform the frontier police of her intended 
departure, she will relate to me the truth,” I said. 

"And are you actually prepared to accept as truth the 
allegations which this woman uses as a lever to compel 
you to exercise your good offices on her behalf?” he ob- 
served, in a tone of reproach. 

I was silent, for I now recognized for the first time the 
strength of his argument. 

"You see her position is this,” he continued, "She has 
nothing to lose and everything to gain. You get her the 
permit she desires ; and she, in return, will tell you some 
absurd romance or other, concocted, perhaps, because she 
has taken a fancy to you and is jealous of Ella. We are 
friends, Deedes, or I should not speak to you so plainly. 
But I tell you that if I were in your place I would refuse 
to hear any lies from this pretty, soft-spoken criminal.” 

"I quite appreciate your argument,” I answered, re- 
flectively, "and I thank you for your good advice.” Were 
the words she had uttered lies, I wondered? Assuredly, 
her allegation that Ella was my enemy was a foul false- 
9 


130 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


hood;' nevertheless that she was well aware of the tragic 
end of Dudley Ogle I could not doubt, and her assertion 
that it had been intended that I should be the victim had 
startled me and aroused my curiosity. I was determined, 
at all hazards, to ascertain the truth. 

“Do not be entrapped by a pretty face or a fine pair of 
eyes, that’s my advice,” my companion said, slowly strik- 
ing a match. 

“I can assure you, old fellow, I shall not be misled by 
any pretty face, even if it has diamond eyes,” I said, quite 
unthinkingly, Sonia’s strange words recurring to me at 
that moment. 

“Diamond eyes!” gasped Paul Verblioudovitch, start- 
ing visibly and holding the burning match still between 
his fingers without lighting his cigarette. He had in that 
instant grown paler, and I thought I detected that his 
hand trembled, almost imperceptibly be it said. “What 
do you mean?” he demanded, with a strange fierceness 
in his gaze. “What do you know of Diamond Eyes?” 


CHAPTER XVH. 

A SPY’S STORY. 

“I know nothing of diamond eyes,” I replied, surprised 
at Paul’s excited inquiry. Instead of showing a good- 
natured friendliness towards me as usual, he had sud- 
denly become agitated and suspicious. He glanced at 
me in doubt, saying, — 

“Sonia has been revealing something. It is useless 
now to try and disguise the fact.” 

“No,” I replied quickly. “She has not explained any- 
thing. What do you expect her to reveal?” 

“Oh, nothing, my dear fellow, nothing,” he answered, 
smiling, with that indifference cultivated by the diplomat. 
“The expression you used was as original as it was un- 
usual, that’s all.” 

“I don’t claim originality for it,” I laughed. “To So- 
nia is the credit due.” 


A SPY’S STORY. 


131 

“To Sonia!” he exclaimed uneasily, glancing sharply at 
me. “Then it is true, as I suspected, that she has been 
telling you some of her ingenious falsehoods.” 

“Scarcely that,” I replied, thrusting my hands deeply 
into my pockets. “She has merely urged me to go to 
Ella and ask her whether she is acquainted with anyone 
with diamond eyes.” 

“As I thought,” he cried, rising and pacing the room 
furiously. “It is exactly as I expected. She is trying 
to entrap you as she has the others, and has embarked 
upon the first step by speaking thus of Ella, and sowing 
seeds of suspicion in your mind. This is the character of 
the woman you seek to help, and you invoke my assis- 
tance in your efforts! No, Geoffrey,” he said, halting 
suddenly, and looking me straight in the face, “I shall 
not stir on her behalf.” 

“But remember, that in return for the passport, she 
has promised to tell me all regarding Ella,” I cried 
anxiously. 

“All!” he echoed, in surprise. “Is she such a myste- 
rious person, then? Surely you have confidence in her, 
or you would not have asked her to be your wife?” 

“There is a mystery connected with her,” I said 
quietly. “A mystery, deep and inscrutable, that per- 
plexes me to the point of distraction.” 

“Tell me about it,” Verblioudovitch said, interested. 

It was upon my tongue to relate to him the whole of 
the facts sub silentio, but a thought at that instant oc- 
curred to me that such a course would be unjust to Ella, 
therefore I evaded his invitation to make him my con- 
fidant. Returning quickly to the object for which I 
had sought him, I persuaded him to assist me by giving 
me a passport for Sonia. 

“What will she do in return?” he again inquired, 
raising his eyebrows and shrugging his shoulders in a 
manner habitual to him when unduly excited. “She 
will concoct some idiotic, romantic story, in order that 
the woman you love shall suffer. I really cannot see, 
Geoffrey, what end can be attained in assisting a crim- 
inal to re-enter the country from which she is a fugitive. 
You don’t know the real character of this apparently in- 


132 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


genuous girl, or I feel certain you would never ask me 
to imperil my reputation by rendering her assistance. If 
I had done my duty long ago, I should have allowed the 
extradition proceedings to go on. I’m sorry now I 
didn’t, for if I had you would have been saved a world 
of worry, and we should have been rid of the pair for 
ever.” 

“You seem actuated by some spirit of animosity 
against her,” I blurted forth. 

“Not at all. I’ve never seen her in my life,” he pro- 
tested. “You apparently want confirmation of my words. 
Well, you shall have it at once,” and he touched an 
electric button. 

The summons was instantly obeyed by a messenger in 
uniform, and to this man Paul spoke some words. A few 
minutes later a short, middle-aged Russian entered. 

His hair was gray, his clean-shaven face was rather red 
and slightly pimply, his small, jet black eyes were set too 
closely together, and his low brows met above his nose. 
Fashionably attired in frock coat of light gray, with a 
pink carnation in the lapel, he looked so spick and span 
that I regarded him with genuine surprise, when my 
friend, introducing us, said, — 

“This, Geoffrey, is Ivan Renouf; I daresay you have 
heard of him. He is now chief of the section of Secret 
Police attached to our Embassies of London and Paris.” 

I nodded in acknowledgment of the bow of this expert 
detective who, at the time I had lived in St. Petersburg, 
had been the terror of all criminals. The stories told of 
his amazing ingenuity in detecting crime were legion, 
though many of them were perhaps fabulous; yet there 
was no doubt that he was one of the most experienced 
police officers in Europe. 

“Renouf,” my friend exclaimed, “I want to ask you a 
question. What character does Sonia Korolenko bear?” 

“Sonia?” answered the great detective, reflectively, in 
fairly good English. “Ah! you mean the daughter of 
Anton Korolenko who escaped from St. Petersburg? — 
eh?” 

“Yes. Tell my friend, Deedes,” Paul said, with a slow 
gesture indicating me. 


A SPY’S STORY. 


133 


“Well,” he answered, glancing quickly at me with his 
searching eyes, “for the past nine months we have kept 
her under strict surveillance, expecting that she intended 
to re-commence operations in London. Indeed, I have 
here in my pocket the report for the last forty-eight 
hours,” and he took from his breast pocket a long folded 
paper. “It shows among other things that she has had 
several visitors at her house in Kensington, one of whom 
was a gentleman who, according to the description, must 
have borne a strong resemblance to m’sieur. Two hours 
before this man had called a lady visited her, and re- 
mained with her about an hour.” Then, reading from the 
report, he continued, “the description says, tall, good- 
looking, blue eyes, reddish-brown hair, straw hat 
trimmed with pale blue, brown shoes, light blouse, black 
cycling skirt.” 

“By Heaven!” I cried excitedly, “that’s Ella! Every 
word of that description tallies, even to the dress, boots 
and hat!” 

“She is a frequent visitor,” the detective observed. 
“She calls on her bicycle every day.” 

“Every day!” I echoed in astonishment. “I did not 
know they were friends.” 

“Did I not tell you that she was concealing the truth?” 
Paul observed, smiling at my dismay. “Tell m’sieur of 
the past, Ivan.” 

“Ah ! her record is a very black one — very black,” the 
officer of police answered gravely, again fixing his small 
dark eyes upon me. “Her swindling transactions extend 
over several years, and she has no doubt acquired quite a 
fortune, while at least one of her victims has lost his life. 
By one coup she accomplished in Moscow, with the aid of 
that soft-spoken old scoundrel, her father, they pocketed 
nearly one hundred thousand roubles between them.” 

“I really can’t believe it,” I exclaimed, dumfounded. 

“There is no doubt whatever about it,” Renouf an- 
swered. “It was all in the papers at the time and made 
quite a stir throughout Europe. The story is a rather 
tragic one; sufficient to show what kind of woman she 
is. About three years ago she went with her father from 
St. Petersburg to Moscow, where they took a handsome 


134 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


house, furnished it luxuriously, and gave a number of 
brilliant entertainments. At one of these the pretty 
Sonia, whose jewels were the admiration of half the 
city, met the young Prince Alexis Gazarin, a mere youth 
of twenty-two, who had only a few months before in- 
herited a huge fortune from his father, the well-known 
prornoter of the oil industry at Baku. Alexis fell violent- 
ly in love with her, made her many costly presents, 
proposed marriage and was accepted, the parental con- 
sent being extracted only when he had deposited in the 
bank in Sonia’s name one hundred thousand roubles as 
settlement upon her. A week before the marriage, the 
body of Alexis was discovered floating in the yellow 
Volga near Kostroma, but whether his death was due 
to accident, suicide or foul play has never been ascer- 
tained. The fact, however, remains that Anton Koro- 
lenko and his pretty daughter left Moscow a week later, 
carrying with them one hundred thousand roubles of 
the dead man’s money.” 

“Do you allege that the pair actually murdered him?” 
I inquired, astounded at this story. 

The detective smiled mysteriously, gave his shoulders 
a significant shrug, but he did not reply. 

“This,” exclaimed Paul, “is the sort of woman you are 
trying to befriend! No doubt she has told you a most 
touching story of persecution, and all that; but can any- 
one be surprised if our police endeavor to arrest her? I 
tell you plainly she’s a mere adventuress, with a plausible 
story ever upon her tongue.” 

“Do you refuse to do what I ask?” I inquired at last, 
when Renouf, pleading an appointment, had bowed and 
departed. 

“I can really see no satisfactory reason why I should,” 
he answered, standing in the center of the Persian rug 
spread before the fireplace. 

“You are my friend, Paul,” I urged. “At all times I 
am, as you are aware, ready to perform you any personal 
service.” 

“It is not rendering you a personal service if, by giving 
the passport, I induce her to tell you a tissue of un- 
truths.” 


A SPY’S STORY. 


135 


"'But it is evident, even from Renouf’s report, that Ella 
visits her. It is to obtain an elucidation of a secret that 
I am striving, for I am convinced Sonia knows the 
truth.” 

'Tf she does, then you may rely upon it she will not tell 
it to you, but substitute some romantic fiction or other,” 
he laughed. 'Tt is really astounding to find you so con- 
fident in her honesty.” 

Paul Verblioudovitch’s attack of ill-temper vanished as 
he threw himself back in his chair and showed all his 
white teeth in a hearty guffaw. 

‘T am not confident,” I declared. 'T have assisted the 
girl to obtain her freedom, therefore I cannot see that she 
can have any object in willfully deceiving me. Her 
promise to reveal the truth regarding Ella in exchange 
for the passport is but a mere business arrangement.” 

“You apparently suspect the woman you love of some 
terrible crime or other,” Paul said, after a pause. ‘T can’t 
understand you, Geoffrey, I must confess.” 

“If you were in my place, fondly loving a woman who 
was enveloped in bewildering mystery, you would, I 
have no doubt, act quite as strangely as myself,” I ex- 
claimed, smiling grimly. “I only want to discover light 
in this chaos of perplexity; then only shall I be content.” 

“But if circumstances have so conspired to produce a 
problem, why not remain patient until its natural elucida- 
tion is effected? The police, when baffied, frequently 
adopt that course, and often very effectually, too.” 

“Truth to tell, old fellow,” I said confidentially, “I am 
anxious to marry Ella, but cannot until I have ascer- 
tained some substantial truth.” 

“Of what do you suspect her — of a crime?” he in- 
quired, smiling. 

I paused. 

“Yes,” I answered gravely, “of a crime.” 

I fancied he started as I spoke, almost imperceptibly, 
perhaps, yet I could have sworn that my words produced 
within him some nervous apprehension. 

“A crime!” he echoed. “Surely she can not be guilty 
of anything more serious than some little indiscretion.” 


136 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“It is more than mere indiscretion that I suspect,” I 
said, in a low tone. 

“Well,” he observed mechanically, as, after a pause, he 
stood at the window, gazing fixedly into the street, “I 
certainly would never accept as truth anything whatever 
told me by Sonia Korolenko.” 

I was, however, inexorable in my demand, more than 
ever determined to hear Sonia’s story. The strange, hesi- 
tating manner in which my friend had endeavored to 
avoid complying with my request had aroused suspicion 
within me; of what, I could not tell. It struck me as 
curious that he should thus defend Ella so strenuously, 
although he knew her but slightly. He was, perhaps, 
acting in my interests as his friend, but if so, his intense 
hatred of Sonia was more than the mere official denuncia- 
tion of an evil-doer. I did not believe his declaration that 
he had never met Sonia, but it seemed rather as if he had 
cause to well remember his meeting with her, and that its 
recollection still rankled bitterly within him. 

The admission by Renouf was a little disconcerting. 
Sonia certainly did not dream that the Tzar’s spies were 
even now watching her every action and carefully scruti- 
nizing each person who called at Pembroke Road. I 
saw that this knowledge I had acquired might prove ex- 
tremely useful to her, for it was plain that even if she ob- 
tained the passport she would have to leave England 
secretly to avoid the vigilance of the secret agents of the 
Embassy. Again, why did Ella visit her? Instead of 
cycling in the Park she went to Pembroke Road, accord- 
ing to the report furnished to Renouf, nearly every day. 
For what purpose, I wondered. The more I reflected, 
the more deeply it became rooted within me that through 
Sonia I might ascertain the truth I sought. 

Therefore I abandoned none of my efforts to persuade 
my friend to issue the document that would pass the sad- 
eyed girl across the frontier into the land she loved. For 
fully half-an-hour we discussed the situation, but he 
would not consent. She was an adventuress and a crim- 
inal, he said, and he was not prepared to risk the conse- 
quences if she were arrested in Russia with a false special 
permit issued by him. 


A SPY’S STORY. 137 

“Besides/’ he added, ‘‘you have heard from Renouf 
how she is constantly kept under observation.” 

“But you could arrange that with him if you liked. A 
word from you and the vigilance of the police would be 
relaxed for an hour or two while she escaped,” I ob- 
served. 

“Ah, no,” Verblioudovitch answered, “we have noth- 
ing whatever to do with Renouf and his subordinates, 
who are under the direct control of Sekerzhinski, the 
chief of the department in St. Petersburg. They take 
no instructions from us.” 

“Renouf would, however, do you a personal favor,” I 
hazarded. 

“I fear not,” was the reply. “We are not the best of 
friends. That is the reason I hesitate to issue a document 
that might implicate me. If he discovered the truth, my 
prospects in the diplomatic service might be ruined.” 

With all Paul’s gay spirits and careless manner he pos- 
sessed an eager enthusiasm, and an insatiable curiosity 
concerning humanity at large. 

“But there is yet another way,” I said. 

“How?” 

“Obtain the signature of His Excellency, the Am- 
bassador. You can make an excuse that the permit is 
for a friend.” 

Paul remained silent, pacing the room with stolid face 
and automatic movement. At last he turned to me, 
saying,— 

“I see, Deedes, it’s quite useless to argue longer. I 
admit that I am exceedingly anxious to render you this 
service, but knowing as I do that the consequences must 
be disastrous either to you, or to the woman Korolenko, 
I have hesitated. Yet if you are determined to assist her 
I suppose I must obtain for you the necessary paper.” 

“Thanks, old fellow, thanks! I knew you would help 
me,” I exclaimed enthusiastically. 

“I cannot let you have it before this evening. If you 
will send Juckes round at seven you shall have it with 
the vise and everything complete.” 

“What a good fellow you are!” I cried joyfully, rising 


138 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

and shaking his hand. ''Some day I hope to be able to 
perform a service for you.” 

"Let’s hope so, old chap,” he answered cheerily, but 
next second his face assumed a grave expression, as he 
added, "Take my advice now, and do not let any of 
Sonia’s wild allegations disturb you. She certainly is too 
expert an adventuress to tell you anything to your own 
advantage, although whatever she does reveal will be to 
the detriment of the woman you love.” 

"Why are you so certain of this?” I inquired quickly, 
in genuine surprise. 

"I have strong reasons for anticipating the course she 
will adopt,” he answered ambiguously. "I therefore give 
you warning.”. 

"It seems that she is acquainted with Ella,” I observed. 

"Yes, from Renouf’s report. But remember my words, 
and don’t be led away by any of her false statements. Do 
not forget that there is a very strong motive why she 
should denounce Miss Laing — a motive you will perhaps 
discover ere long,” and he smiled mysteriously. 

"Very well,” I exclaimed, after a brief pause. Then 
again shaking his hand, I left, after expressing thanks 
and promising to send Juckes to the Embassy that even- 
ing. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

SOME SURPRISES. 

Several weeks passed uneventfully. In fulfillment of 
my promise to Sonia I had obtained the required permit 
and taken it personally to Pembroke Road on the same 
evening, but on arrival there discovered that the pretty 
Russian had been unexpectedly summoned to the bedside 
of a sick friend. She had, however, left a note with the 
English maid asking me to enclose the document in an 
envelope and leave it. 

"I regret it is impossible for me to be at home to re- 
ceive you,” she wrote in French, "but I have every con- 
fidence that you will secure me what I require. If you 


SOME SURPRISES. 


139 


leave it for me I will, in return, write down and send 
you the facts I promised to reveal. Time presses, there- 
fore kindly excuse my haste. I shall always remember 
your kindness and be ready to render you any service 
in return.” 

This was disappointing. I had hoped to hear from her 
own lips her promised revelations, but this being impos- 
sible, I enclosed the special permit in an envelope, sealed 
it and left it, together with a brief note warning her that 
she was being carefully watched by police agents, and 
promising to call next day and bid her farewell. 

When on the following morning I presented myself at 
her house, I was informed by the maid that mademoiselle 
had left early to visit her sick friend, and that she would 
not return till evening. Inquiry showed that she had 
received my letter, and when at eight o’clock that night I 
again called in the expectation of obtaining the fulfill- 
ment of her promise to tell me of Ella, I found her still 
absent, and gathered from the servant that she had taken 
a traveling-trunk with her. I concluded that she had left 
secretly for Russia. 

From day to day I waited in the expectation of a letter 
from her, but although I remained in anxiety and doubt 
for more than a month, none came, and I was at last 
compelled to admit that I had actually been tricked, as 
Paul had predicted. He was right after all. Sonia, the 
innocent-looking girl with the sad, dark eyes and dimpled 
chin, was a woman internationally notorious, who, soft- 
voiced, had posed as my friend in order to attain her own 
ends, and had then departed without carrying out her 
part of the compact. As the weeks passed I gradually 
began to realize the force of Paul Verblioudovitch’s 
words when he had tried to impress upon me the neces- 
sity of accepting her statements with caution. Without 
doubt she was a heartless adventuress, therefore I bit- 
terly reproached myself for having allowed her libelous 
allegations against Ella to arouse suspicion within me, 
and at length determined upon regarding all her words 
as false, uttered merely for the purpose of enlisting my 
assistance to procure her re-entry into her own country. 
My anger that I should have allowed myself to fall into 


140 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE 


such a trap, and make such a demand upon a friend’s 
good will, knew no bounds. I went to the Embassy, and 
to Paul admitted that my hopes had not been realized. 
In reply, he laughed heartily, saying, — 

“I warned you, my dear fellow, of the kind of woman 
with whom you were dealing. Thank your stars that she 
has discarded you so easily, and be careful of pretty 
refugees in future. No harm has apparently been done, 
for inquiries I’ve made showed that she crossed the fron- 
tier at Verjbolovo without detection.” 

‘T must confess I doubted the truth of your words 
before you issued the permit, but of course it is all plain 
now,” I said. 

'‘You don’t believe her lies about Miss Laing, eh?” he 
inquired bluntly, but a trifle earnestly, I thought. 

“No, I don’t,” I smiled; and then our conversation 
had drifted into a different channel. It was clear enough 
now, patent to everybody, that the girl I had fancied so 
pure, so unworldly — the goddess that sat in the clouds 
regarding all earth with clear, immaculate eyes — was 
simply an adventuress, a wretched creature, on the look- 
out for victims. 

The popular excitement consequent from the belief 
that war was to be declared had died down, although in 
the Foreign Office the reason of the sudden abandonment 
of Russia’s intentions remained an inscrutable mystery, 
while the panic on the Stock Exchange had enriched a 
few and ruined many. Parliament had risen for the re- 
cess, and Beck had taken a party in his yacht to the Nor- 
wegian fiords, Ella and Mrs. Laing declining his invita- 
tion to join them. This of course had been adopted at 
my suggestion. When Ella had spoken to me of their 
proposed cruise, I at once demurred, for although I had 
also been asked, I found absence from the Foreign Office 
impossible, owing to several delicate negotiations at that 
moment proceeding, and therefore urged her to remain 
in London. This she did at once, declining the invitation 
on behalf of both herself and her mother. The latter, 
who was not a good sailor, secretly thanked me for res- 
cuing her from what she termed “three weeks of mis- 
ery.” and, truth to tell, although no longer jealous of 


SOME SURPRISES. 141 

Beck’s attention to Ella, I was glad to have her remain in 
town. 

Through the hot, stifling August days, when London 
was what is termed “empty,” Mrs. Laing and her daugh- 
ter still lived in Pont Street. During the first three weeks 
following my visit to Sonia I called only twice, but mean- 
time Ella was, I knew, suffering tortures of doubt and 
anxiety. She had been trained in a school of self-repres- 
sion, and it now stood her in good stead. She could not, 
however, prevent her cheeks being pale, neither could 
she help her eyes looking dilated and odd. Speech was 
difficult and smiles impossible; otherwise she held her 
own, and only I felt the difference, and knew that there 
lay a deep gulf of suspicion between us. 

On the two occasions on which I had called we had no 
confidential chat, and the formal hours went by almost in 
silence. I had received positive proof from Renouf that 
she had been a constant visitor to Sonia, and it was im- 
possible to talk with frivolity in that oppressive atmos- 
phere of doubt. Mrs. Laing, I noticed, hung her gold 
pince-nez high upon her nose in wonder. Ella was thus 
consuming herself with anxiety, while I, struggling along 
from day to day, saw my last hope growing thinner and 
yet more shadowy, and looming through it — despair. 

Then at last, five weeks after Sonia’s flight, I called at 
Pont Street and demanded of Ella the reason she had 
visited the house in Pembroke Road. Her reply was 
quite unexpected. She told .me quite calmly that they 
had been schoolfellows at Neuilly, and that, finding Sonia 
had lost both her parents, she went to Pembroke Road 
each day to bear the bereaved girl company. She was 
in ignorance regarding Sonia’s life since she had left the 
French school, and expressed surprise that she should 
have departed suddenly without telling her of her des- 
tination. Her replies to my inquiries set my mind at rest 
upon several points. It appeared quite plain that Ella 
herself had told Sonia of her engagement to me and had 
described the tragic incident at Staines, therefore the 
pretty refugee had been enabled to drop those ingenious 
hints at mystery that had so sorely puzzled me, and had 
cleverly secured my interests on her behalf. 


142 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


When I realized how artfully I had been tricked, I 
ground my teeth, and Ella, standing statuesque on the 
opposite side of the drawing-room in strong relief against 
a background of dark, glossy palms and broad-leaved 
tropical plants, noticed my anger. The light fell upon 
her red-brown hair and upon her slightly upturned face, 
showing its delicate modeling in its almost childish 
roundness. Her profile was quite as charming as her full 
face, perhaps more so, as it had the advantage of the curl 
and sweep of the eyelashes and of the fine line of the 
upper lip. 

She eyed me gravely, but spoke no word. 

Yet in that instant I knew I had misjudged her, that 
through those long, anxious weeks while I had enter- 
tained dark suspicions she had nevertheless still loved 
me honestly and truly. I know not what words I ut- 
tered, but a few moments later I found her sobbing in my 
fond embrace. Her tears were tears of joy. 

The silence was long. We had so much to think about 
that we forgot to speak, but presently, when she dried 
her blue eyes with her flimsy lace handkerchief and 
seated herself, I took the tiny hand lying idly in her lap 
and laid my cheek down on the tender, rosy palm. 

“How I wish that this night could last for ever,” I 
said, with a sigh of supreme contentment. “In my mem- 
ory it will live always.” 

“Always?” she echoed, looking tenderly into my face; 
then for the first time she put her arms around me and 
held me tightly pressed against her heart. 

“Yes, always,” I said. “Until I die.” 

“Ah! Don’t speak of death,” she whispered. “If you 
died, I — I should die also, Geoffrey. I could not live 
without you. How I have endured these dark, weary 
weeks I scarcely know.” 

Together we remained a long time, while I reproached 
myself for entertaining suspicion that her friendliness 
with Dudley or with Beck was anything but platonic, 
declaring that my love had ever been unwavering, that 
my recent actions had been due to a mad and unjust 
jealousy for which I craved her forgiveness. 

With her eyes still wet she told me how fondly she had 


SOME SURPRISES. 143 

always loved me, and urged me to think no more of the 
strange events that had led to Dudley’s tragic end. 

“It is my duty to ascertain the truth and clear up the 
mystery,” she said. “I have promised you a solution of 
the enigma, and you shall have it some day.” 

“For the present, dearest, I am content to wait,” I 
answered, and in the same breath repeated the question I 
had asked her months ago — whether she would be my 
wife. 

“Alas! I fear you do not trust me sufficiently, Geof- 
frey,” she answered in a low, intense tone, tears still well- 
ing in her blue eyes. 

“I do,” I cried. “I know that all the time I have been 
a jealously brutal fool you have loved me as truly as 
ever.” 

“I told you long ago that I loved you,” she answered 
earnestly. 

“Yes, I believe it now, darling,” I said. “That is why I 
ask you to become my wife. Tell me once more that you 
will.” 

In a whisper, as her handsome head pillowed itself 
upon my arm, she repeated her promise, then burst into 
a torrent of tears, while I, in joyful ecstasy, still held her 
in my arms. 

It was an idyllic evening, this first one of love and 
trust; a brief dream such as one has in the moment be- 
fore waking. Bowing before my idol, I had humbly 
acknowledged myself wrong, and my well-beloved had 
frankly forgiven and forgotten. There was a long si- 
lence, deep and impressive, broken only by the confused 
sound from the street that came in through the open win- 
dow. Then, when she stirred again and raised her head, 
I told her of my position at the Foreign Office, and the 
probability of my appointment to a diplomatic post 
abroad. 

She listened, her clear, trusting eyes fixed upon me. 
She, too, was ambitious. 

“It’s a great responsibility for any woman,” she said at 
last, “to think she is to be part of a career. I will help 
you, my darling,” then she buried her face again in my 
coat collar, protesting fervently, “I will never, never al- 


144 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


low myself to hinder you ; but will do my utmost to help 
you to success, only you must have patience with me.” 
Suddenly she raised her head again, continuing, “I know 
there is one strange episode in my past that is a mystery 
to you, nay, to all. My misfortune is that I am unable yet 
to reveal the truth, because I fear the consequences of 
such disclosure. Some day you shall know everything, 
but until then think only of me as the woman who loves 
you with all her soul.” 

She spoke with a terrible earnestness, her slim fingers 
clutching my arm convulsively, and as I gave my promise 
to regard her always as a pure and upright woman, and 
forget the mystery surrounding her, I sealed our com- 
pact with a long, passionate kiss. 

Mrs. Laing, stiff and stately in black satin, entered the 
room a few moments later, and Ella, having whispered 
and obtained my consent, forthwith made a full and com- 
plete statement to her mother of the position of affairs. 
The old lady listened attentively in silence, inclining her 
head now and then with a gesture indicative of approba- 
tion, but when her daughter had concluded her face 
brightened. 

‘T am indeed glad to think that dear Ella is to marry 
you after all, Geoffrey,” she said. “Once, not so very 
long ago, I feared that you two would never again be 
reconciled, for Ella moped day after day, crying, and 
quite spoiling her complexion. But the old saying about 
the course of true love contains much truth, and now 
that your little differences are readjusted, there can be no 
cause for any further regret. That Ella loves you dearly, 
I, as her mother, have had better opportunity for know- 
ing than anyone else, and were it not for the fact that I 
am convinced you both will be happy, I should never 
give my consent to your marriage. But I am absolutely 
sure that this marriage is one that Ella’s father would 
have approved, therefore you have my entire consent and 
heartiest congratulations.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Laing,” I answered. “I, too, am 
convinced that we love each other sufficiently well, and I 
can only promise to be a sympathetic and devoted hus- 
band.” 


SOME SURPRISES. 


145 


Ella, who, standing beside her mother’s chair, had en- 
twined her arms affectionately around her neck, slowly 
released her, and walked across the room to turn the 
lamp higher. Then, deeming it but just that they both 
should know the reason of my recent coolness and sus- 
picion, I told them in confidence of the mysterious theft 
of the secret convention, the strange and tragic events 
that followed, the discovery of the seal on the body of 
Dudley Ogle, and my absurd belief that Ella had, in some 
way, been implicated in the ingenious efforts of the spy. 

'‘Do you actually suspect poor Dudley of having been 
in the pay of the Russian Government?” Mrs. Laing 
asked, open-mouthed, in dismay. 

"I do,” I was constrained to reply. “There is no 
^iiadow of doubt that he was a spy. He tricked you as he 
did myself. I was his best friend, yet he nearly ruined 
all my prospects in the Service.” 

While we had been speaking the door had opened, and 
as I glanced from Ella across to Mrs. Laing, I saw a 
gray-haired man-servant in the act of handing her a 
letter. 

As he turned from her to leave he glanced at me 
suddenly. Our eyes met in mutual recognition, and I 
think I must have started perceptibly, for his brows sud- 
denly contracted as if commanding me to silence; then 
he made his exit, closing the door noiselessly behind 
him. 

“You haven’t seen my new man Helmholtz before, 
Geoffrey,” Mrs. Laing exclaimed when he had gone. 
“He seems a perfect treasure, although he is a German. 
But, after all, German servants are more useful, and 
quite as trustworthy as English I should certainly ad- 
vise Ella to have one.” 

“Yes,” I answered mechanically. 

The man was none other than Ivan Renouf, the great 
Russian detective. 


10 


146 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A BLADE OF GRASS. 

Nearly three months had slipped away. It was mid- 
November. The cloud that had darkened my days had 
lifted, the sun shone out, and life and hope sprang up and 
ran riot in my heart. The long, anxious weeks were over, 
for Ella was now my wife, and our lives were full of joy 
and love. With utter contempt for the warning words 
of the ingenuous Russian who left so mysteriously with- 
out fulfilling her promise, I had taken the dearest other 
half of my soul, happy in the knowledge that I would 
be a solitary wretch no more. 

After a quiet wedding at St. Peter’s, Eaton Square, at 
which, however, a large number of our friends were pres- 
ent, including Paul Verblioudovitch, the reception had 
been held at Pont Street, and we left to spend our honey- 
moon on the Continent while our house in Phillimore 
Gardens, Kensington, was being prepared. I loved my 
wife with the whole strength of my being. Her beauty 
was incomparable, her grace charming, and I could not 
doubt that she loved me with her whole soul, and that 
her vows came direct from her heart. 

The reason of Renouf’s presence in Mrs. Laing’s 
household was an enigma. Since the night when I had 
first seen him there I had visited Pont Street each day, 
and on several occasions had managed to speak with him 
alone. To all my inquiries, however, he remained dumb. 

One night, when I had called and found Ella and her 
mother had gone to the theater, I closed the door of the 
room into which I had been ushered, and asked him 
point-blank whether his presence there was not calcu- 
lated to arouse suspicions in my mind. With an im- 
perturbable smile he replied, — 

'There is no allegation whatever against mother or 


A BLADE OF GRASS. 147 

daughter, therefore set your mind entirely at rest. We 
desire to ascertain something. That is all.” 

His manner angered me. 

“If I were to denounce you as a spy you would be 
thrown out of this house very quickly,” I said, indignant 
that this ill-featured man should, for some mysterious 
reason, watch every action of my well-beloved. 

He glanced at me with an amused expression, as he 
answered in a half-whisper, — 

“By betraying me, m’sieur would betray one of his 
closest friends.” 

“Oh! How’s that?” 

“A word from you to either of these women,” he ex- 
claimed, with brows slightly knit, “and the department in 
St. Petersburg will know the reason that Sonia Koro- 
lenko was enabled to pass the frontier at Verjbolovo; 
they will know that Paul Verblioudovitch, the Secretary 
of Embassy, has assisted a criminal to escape.” 

“You scoundrel!” I cried, facing him fiercely. “You 
listened to our conversation!” 

He shrugged his shoulders, and with the same grim 
smile, answered, — 

“My ears are trained, m’sieur. It is part of my pro- 
fession.” 

“But why do you remain here, in a peaceable house- 
hold?” I demanded. “Surely neither Mrs. Laing nor 
Ella have incurred the Tzar’s displeasure or the hatred 
of those in authority! They know nothing of Russia; 
they have never set foot in the country.” 

The man’s features relaxed, and turning from me, he 
busied himself among some bottles on the sideboard. 

“I desire an answer,” I continued. 

“I have my instructions,” he replied, without looking 
towards me. 

“From whom?” 

“From headquarters.” 

“Well,” I exclaimed. “We are not in Russia, there- 
fore, when the ladies return, I shall explain who and 
what you are.” 

“You dare not,” he said, regarding me suddenly with 
dark, penetrating gaze. 


148 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“Miss Ella will soon be my wife, and I will not allow 
her actions to be noted upon one of those formidable 
forms of yours that are too often the death-warrants of 
your victims.’^ 

“These ladies are not my victims, as you are pleased to 
term them,” he protested, laughing at my anger. 

“Victims or friends, they shall no longer remain under 
your accursed surveillance,” I cried hotly. “You may 
practice your espionage upon your suspected compa- 
triots; but I will never allow you to keep observation 
upon my friends here in England.” 

“Very well,” he said, quite calmly, with that cynical 
expression that was so tantalizing. “Act as you think 
fit. We, of the secret service, take no step before due 
consideration of its consequences, a policy it would be 
wise for you also to adopt.” Then, with a show of mock 
politeness, he opened the door of the dining-room, and, 
bowing, exclaimed, “Madame is out, will m’sieur remain, 
or call again?” 

Our eyes met, and I saw in his a look of triumph. 

“I’ll call again,” I replied, and walked out into the hall, 
gaining the street a moment later. 

The first passing hansom I hailed, and drove at once 
to Chesham House, where I was fortunate to find Paul. 
When we were closeted together, I told him of the police 
officer’s threat, and my announcement caused him con- 
siderable astonishment. 

“Curious,” he repeated, as if to himself. “Very curious 
that Renouf should be installed in that family, above all 
others.” 

“Above all others,” I echoed. “Why?” 

“I — I mean that Mrs. Laing could not possibly have 
lone anything to offend our Government,” he said, 
quickly correcting himself. “It is ':ertainly very strange. 
Renouf is not a man to be trifled with,” he added quickly. 
“There must be some very strong reason, known only to 
himself, that has induced him to act in this manner. If 
the motive were not a strong one, he would delegate the 
menial position he has had to assume to one of his sub- 
ordinates. I know he has his hands full of important in- 


A BLADE OF GRASS. 149 

quiries just now, and it therefore surprises me that he is 
calmly reposing as butler in Mrs. Laing’s service.” 

“But knowing him to be a spy, I cannot allow him to 
remain longer in daily contact with those two defense- 
less women,” I exclaimed. 

“Have they ever been in Russia?” 

“Never!” I replied. “Only the other evening they 
were asking me about St. Petersburg, and both ex- 
pressed a wish to visit your country.” 

Paul, with his hands behind his back, and head bent in 
thought, paused for a moment, and then said, — 

“From what I know of Ivan Renouf, I believe that 
were you to do him an evil turn, and obtain his dismissal 
from Pont Street, he would at once expose to the Minis- 
try of the Interior how Sonia Korolenko obtained her 
passport. If he did so, the result would be disastrous to 
me, especially just at a time when our frontier regula- 
tions are extremely rigid.” 

“What, then, is the best course to pursue?” I asked. 

He was silent, looking moodily into the fire. Then 
turning with a sudden movement, he said, with em- 
phasis, — 

“You are my friend, Geoffrey. My future is in your 
hands.” 

“Which means that my silence is imperative,” I ob- 
served reflectively. 

Paul Verblioudovitch nodded, but uttered no word. If 
I denounced Renouf it was plain that my friend, who had 
seriously imperiled his position at my urgent request, 
must undoubtedly suffer. In order to shield him I must 
therefore remain silent. With intense chagrin I saw my- 
self ingeniously checkmated. 

I dared not allow one single syllable of suspicion re- 
garding the German servant, who was, according to 
Mrs. Laing, “a treasure,” to escape my lips, and thus, 
as the weeks passed preceding my marriage, I was com- 
pelled to watch and wait without any outward sign. 

The reason of his vigilance was an inscrutable mys- 
tery. 

With Ella as my wife I had passed six blissful weeks, 
visiting many of the quaint, old-world towns in Central 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


150 

France. It had been Ella’s fancy to do this. She hated 
the glare and glitter of Paris, and would only remain 
there the night on our outward and homeward journeys; 
indeed, cities had no charm for her, she preferred the 
lethargic provincial towns, from which we could make 
excursions into the country and spend the bright autumn 
days at old-fashioned inns. Fearing that she was be- 
coming bored, I endeavored to induce her to go to Biar- 
ritz or Pau, but to no avail. The crowded table-d’hote 
of the popular resort possessed no attraction, and I re- 
joiced in secret, for we spent a far happier time wander- 
ing through the country than if installed in some garish 
hotel in the neighborhood of a casino. 

Once, and only once since our marriage, had I made 
any mention of the death of Dudley Ogle. We were 
driving into the ancient town of Chateauroux, in the 
Indre, on the lumbering, dusty, old diligence that has 
performed the same daily journey for perhaps a century, 
when I chanced to incidentally utter his name, and ex- 
press wonder when the mystery would be solved. 

We were speaking in English, not a word of which 
could be understood by our driver, but instantly she 
turned to me with a look of reproach, and, placing her 
little gloved hand on my mouth in haste, exclaimed, — 

“No, Geoffrey. Do not recall that terrible tragedy. 
Promise never again to mention his name ; it only brings 
sadness to both of us, while the mystery surrounding the 
crime is irritating and puzzling. You have already told 
me that he was not your friend, although he posed as 
such, therefore forget him. I have not forgotten; nor 
shall I ever cease to think and to strive towards the solu- 
tion of the problem.” 

“But cannot I help you to search and investigate?” I 
suggested. “Why should you strive to elucidate this 
mystery alone, now that you are my wife?” 

“Because it is my ambition,” she answered, regarding 
me earnestly with clear, trusting eyes. “You will, I 
know, allow me to retain one object in life apart from 
you.” 

“Certainly,” I answered, surreptitiously pressing her 
hand, although puzzled at her strange words. In the few 


A BLADE OF GRASS. 


151 

weeks we had been together I had discovered that she 
was a woman of moods and curious fancies. Once or 
twice she had exhibited a strong desire to walk alone at 
night when the moon shone, and because I objected she 
had pouted prettily, scorning the idea that she was not 
able to take care of herself. Except when in this mood 
she was always eager to fulfill my every wish, and I had 
quickly arrived at the conclusion that her strange desires 
were but natural to one of a slightly hysterical tempera- 
ment, and therefore troubled myself but little about them. 

Thus after an enjoyable trip through one of the most 
beautiful districts of France, unknown to the average 
Briton, we returned and settled comfortably at our new 
home in Kensington. My duties at the Foreign Office 
took me away the greater part of the day, but Ella was 
not lonely, for she drove out frequently with her mother, 
who visited her almost daily. Of interference or mater- 
nal influence I had nothing whatever to complain, yet 
Ella’s desire to wander about alone, aimless and ab- 
sorbed, soon again seized her. We had been settled 
about a month when I made this discovery from the 
servants, who, on my arrival home earlier than usual on 
several occasions, told me, in answer to questions, that 
their mistress had gone out by herself. But on her re- 
turn she betrayed no surprise, mentioning quite inci- 
dentally that she had been shopping in High Street, or 
that she had been to her milliner’s in Bond Street, or else- 
where. 

So frequently did this occur that at last I became 
puzzled, and on making further inquiries found that on 
many occasions she had been absent the whole day, re- 
turning only just in time to change her dress and receive 
me with that bright, winning smile that always held me 
entranced. 

One bright December afternoon I returned at three 
o’clock, and found she had been absent since eleven that 
morning. I took a cab to Pont Street, but ascertaining 
she had not been there, returned home, and impatiently 
awaited her until nearly six. As soon as I heard her light 
footstep I seized a book that lay nearest and pretended 
to read. She burst in like a ray of sunshine, her face 


152 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


aglow with laughter, and in her hand an immense bunch 
of sweet-smelling violets. 

The book chanced to be a Koran in Arabic. She came 
across to kiss me, but I waved her off with dignity, and 
went on translating the Word of the Prophet. 

Ella stood back indignant, and with her flowers in front 
of her waited at the other side of the table. 

After a pause I commenced, “You went out this morn- 
ing ten minutes after I had gone ; it is now six o’clock. 
You have been absent seven hours.” 

Ella nodded. 

“And how have you employed your time? ' I asked. 
“Have you been shopping, as usual?” 

Ella again nodded. 

“Seven hours is a long time. Where did you get those 
flowers?” I asked, sniffing contemptuously at the huge 
bunch of sweet-smelling blossoms she had let fall before 
me. 

“I bought them at Scott’s.” 

“That is a bunch specially made up for presentation,” 
I said. “Some one gave them to you.” 

“Yes, the shopman,” she laughed. “I gave him two 
shillings for them.” Then she took off her hat and, 
impaling it with a long pin, cast it heedlessly upon the 
table. 

“It has not occupied seven hours to buy a bunch of 
violets,” I said ruthlessly. “Where have you been?” 

Ella looked round laughing, and said in a quiet voice, 
“I have been to see a friend.” 

“Another aunt — eh?” I asked, suspiciously. 

She took a chair and sat down opposite; then, with her 
head leaning upon her hands, she said demurely, “Yes, it 
was an aunt.” 

There was silence. Ella had picked up her bunch of 
violets, and every time I looked up she was watching me 
over them. 

“Well,” I exclaimed at last, “where does this aunt live 
— at Highgate?” 

“No, not that one. She is poor. She lives in Camber- 
well.” 

“I don’t believe it,” I said, standing up suddenly. 


A BLADE OF GRASS. 


153 


Ella raised her eyebrows in interrogation. There was 
an ominous look in her blue eyes, and I put forth my 
hand to snatch the flowers and cast them into the fire. 
Instead, I sat down again and turned over another hun- 
dred pages of my Koran. 

“Geoffrey,” she said at length in a low, timid voice. 

I perused my book with stolid indifference. 

“Geoffrey,” she repeated, “why are you angry with me 
without cause?” 

Raising my head, I saw that her fine eyes were dimmed 
by tears, and almost unconsciously I reached, took her 
hand, and pressed it. Then Ella, rising slowly, came 
round and sat upon my knee. 

“You see,” she whispered, with her arms around my 
neck, “this is how it was. Last night I said to myself, 
‘This poor, dear Geoffrey — he is so busy with his coun- 
try’s affairs, and works so hard — he will be away all day; 
therefore I will go over to call upon my aunt in Camber- 
well and take her a bottle of wine and some tea, for she 
is a great invalid and in poverty. Since my marriage I 
haven’t seen her, and as she is in great straits I know 
dear Geoffrey will not object’ ” 

Here Ella stopped to nestle closer to me, and went 
on, — 

“And to-day I took a cab down to Camberwell, to a 
dreary row of drab, mournful-looking houses, and all 
day long I have sat by her bedside trying to cheer her. 
Ah! she is so ill, and so sad. Then on my return I called 
at Scott’s and bought these flowers for my darling, se- 
rious old boy who has been working all day in his dreary 
office with its window overlooking the dismal gray 
quadrangle. And 1 am so tired, and it was not at all 
amusing for me without him.” 

The flowers smelt so sweet in front of me; and Ella 
was so sweet, childlike and full of happiness, that I took 
her soft face between my hands, as was my habit, and 
kissed her. 

But later that evening, on going to her room alone to 
fetch something for her, I noticed that her high-heeled 
French boots, thrown aside, as she had cast them off, 
were unusually muddy, although, strangely enough, it 


t 


154 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

had been a dry day. I took them up, and upon examin- 
ing the soles found them caked with damp clay in which 
were embedded some blades of grass. 

I slowly descended the stairs engrossed by my own 
thoughts. Grass does not grow in the streets of Camber- 
well. 


CHAPTER XX. 

UNDERCURRENTS OF DIPLOMACY. 

A few nights later we went together to a ball at the 
Russian Embassy. Perhaps of all the functions in Lon- 
don a ball at Chesham House is one of the most brilliant 
and imposing, for it is always on a scale in keeping with 
the dignity of the representative of the Tzar. 

The spacious state rooms with their great crystal 
chandeliers and heavy gilding, were filled to overflowing 
with pretty women and men in uniform of hues as varied 
as those of the ladies’ dresses, from the black coat of the 
United States Minister to the bright yellow jacket of the 
Emperor of China’s representative. All the diplomatic 
body were present, as well as many personages well 
known in English society. At the head of the grand 
staircase M. Grodekoff, the Russian Ambassador, a strik- 
ing figure in his spotless white uniform, his breast glitter- 
ing with orders set in brilliants, including the much-cov- 
eted ribbon of St. Andrew, stood with his daughter re- 
ceiving their guests, and as we advanced the courtly, 
white-haired old gentleman, whom I had met on many 
occasions in my official capacity, shook me heartilv by 
the hand and congratulated us upon our marriage. 

‘T heard, Deedes, of your good fortune,” he said, after 
greeting Ella. ‘T trust that you and your wife will have 
long life and every happiness.” 

“Thanks, your Excellency,” I answered, smiling con- 
tentedly. “There is no doubt, I think, concerning our 
happiness.” 

“You should take madame to St. Petersburg,” the 


UNDERCURRENTS OF DIPLOMACY. 155 


aged diplomatist laughed. “She would enjoy, it, espe- 
cially with you, who know our country.” 

“I hope to go very soon,” Ella said. “I have heard so 
much about it, and am longing to see it.” 

“Go now,” he urged. “This is just the season; plenty 
of snow, and skating and sledging and such like sports 
that delight us in the North.” 

We both laughed in chorus, while the representative of 
the White Tzar, dismissing us into the ballroom with a 
low bow, turned to greet the tall, full-bearded represen- 
tative of his Imperial master’s ally, the French Republic. 
In the corridor there was bustle everywhere. Gayly-uni- 
formed servants hurried here and there, young attaches, 
their breasts decorated with crosses and ribbons of every 
combination of color, lounged along with pretty women 
on their arms, while older diplomats of every shade of 
complexion from white to black, exchanged greetings 
as they met. 

From the gay cosmopolitan throng in the ballroom 
rose the mingled odor of a thousand perfumes with the 
chatter of laughing women, and ere we had entered, Paul 
Verblioudovitch, erect, spruce and smart in his pale-blue 
uniform, and wearing many decorations, elbowed his way 
through the crush towards us. 

We had not met since the wedding reception at Pont 
Street, and as we strolled through the brightly-lit salons, 
Ella, radiant and enthusiastic, began telling him of our 
idle days and explorations in the old-world French towns. 

“Permit me, madame, to congratulate you,” he ex- 
claimed presently. 

“Upon what?” asked Ella, in surprise. 

“Upon being the prettiest woman it has ever been our 
honor to entertain here upon this small square of terri- 
tory belonging to our Imperial Master,” he said, bowing 
and smiling with that inborn finesse which was one of his 
chief characteristics. 

“Ah, you diplomatists always flatter,” she laughed 
lightly behind her fan. “Is it really wise of you to make 
a woman vain?” she asked, inclining her head slightly. 

I felt compelled to admit that Paul had spoken the 
truth, for as we passed along I had not failed to notice 


156 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

that Ella’s beauty was everywhere remarked. Her gown 
of cream satin, a trifle decollete, with the corsage thickly 
embroidered with pearls and edged with flowers, suited 
her admirably, and the instant consciousness of success 
in that brilliant circle of society unfamiliar to her height- 
ened the color of her cheeks and added luster to her eyes. 

*‘The majority of the women who honor us with their 
presence on these occasions are vain enough,” my friend 
admitted, adding in a low voice, “even though some of 
them are absolute hags.” 

“Mr. Verblioudovitch is, I believe, past-master of the 
art of flattery,” Ella observed, laughing, turning towards 
me. “He could make a dowager-duchess believe herself 
as youthful and attractive as a girl of eighteen.” 

“It is necessary sometimes, madame,” he answered, 
amused. “Quite necessary, I assure you.” 

At that moment a quietly-dressed elderly lady of pro- 
nounced Teutonic type and matronly proportions was 
struggling to pass us, but, recognized by Paul, was in- 
troduced to Ella. It was a woman with whom I was well 
acquainted, the Countess Landsfeldt, wife of the German 
Ambassador. She at once joined our little group, and 
commenced to chat with a strong accent. 

“We have not met, madame, for quite an age — three 
months, is it?” Paul exclaimed presently. “You have 
been away, I believe.” 

“Ah! yes. For a month I was in Berlin, and after- 
wards, just as I was returning to London, my youngest 
daughter fell ill, and I was compelled to spend two 
months with her in Ehrenburg, our schloss on the 
Mosel.” 

“The Ehrenburg!” exclaimed Ella, enthusiastically. 
“I know it quite well. How romantic and charming it 
looks perched high up upon its solitary rock. My 
mother and I drove from Brodenbach along the valley to 
see it last year.” 

“Ah, you did not enter?” 

“No,” my wife answered, smiling. “I had not then the 
honor of madame’s acquaintance.” 

“Inside, we are back in mediaeval days, with dungeons, 
torture-chambers, and all sorts of relics of barbarism: 


UNDERCURRENTS OF DIPLOMACY. 157 


while the legends connected with the place are legion. 
Some day, if you are interested in ancient castles, you and 
your husband must visit me in Germany.” 

“It is the most carefully preserved stronghold of the 
middle ages* extant,” Paul observed. 

“Ah, yes,” replied the Countess, “but it is gloomy and 
dull — ugh!” and, shrugging her shoulders, she pulled a 
little grimace. “I prefer Berlin — or even London.” 

“You say even London, Countess,” exclaimed Paul. 
“I quite agree. London is triste after Vienna or St. Pe- 
tersburg. Is his Excellency with you this evening?” 

“No. My husband is — oh, so busy. We only returned 
from Lord Maybury’s this morning, and dispatches accu- 
mulated so fast in his absence.” 

“He has received another decoration from the Em- 
peror, I hear,” Verblioudovitch observed. 

“Yes, the Iron Cross,” replied the Countess, looking at 
him sharply. Then she added quickly, — 

“But who told you? He only received His Majesty’s 
intimation three days ago, and I thought for the present 
it was a profound secret.” 

Upon Paul’s face there spread that imperturbable smile 
that he could assume at will, as he answered, — 

“It is the object of a diplomatist to ascertain the nature 
of all secrets.” 

The Countess gave vent to a forced laugh as she ex- 
claimed, “My husband, I think, fully deserved the honor.” 

“Certainly, madame,” replied the Tzar’s official, cour- 
teously, his hands clasped behind his back. “The com- 
pletion of the secret convention with England was, I 
admit, a master-stroke, and even though directed against 
us, the rapidity and cleverness with which it was effected 
were worthy of reward.” And he smiled at her mysteri- 
ously. 

“Ah,” she exclaimed, fanning herself slowly with a 
sudden hauteur; “no secret seems safe from you, m’sieur. 
Nothing escapes the Embassy of Russia.” And bowing 
slightly, her stiff silks swept past us, and a moment later 
she became lost in the chattering, well-dressed crowd. 

“You see, my dear Geoffrey,” laughed Paul, when the 
Countess was out of hearing, “we are accredited with the 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


158 

omnipotence of the Evil One himself quite unduly. I 
particularly desired to learn whether her husband had 
been decorated by his Emperor for that convention which, 
nearly cost Europe a war; therefore I hazarded a single 
remark. Whereupon she at once told me all about it, 
and having done so, in her next breath denounced us and 
all our works. But, there,” and he gave his shoulders a 
shrug, “women are such strange creatures.” 

“How cleverly you managed to ascertain what you 
desired,” observed Ella. 

But the fine Viennese orchestra had struck up, and my 
wife, being engaged to him for a dance then commenc- 
ing, he led her off, and I failed to overhear his reply. 

For the next hour I did not dance, but wandering 
about the rooms I exchanged greetings and chatted with 
those I knew, until at length I came across Lady Far- 
ringford, the wife of Sir Henry Farringford, our Minis- 
ter in Washington, sitting with her daughter Mabel. We 
were old friends, and Mabel quickly responded to my in- 
vitation to waltz. She was a smart girl, and rumor said 
that she had become engaged to a wealthy American, a 
statement which, in reply to my inquiry, she frankly con- 
firmed. As we waltzed and lounged together I noticed 
Ella dancing first with Paul, and afterwards with several 
young attaches of my acquaintance. Once or twice we 
exchanged smiles, and I knew by the expression on her 
face how thoroughly she was enjoying her first night in 
the diplomatic circle. The scene was brilliant and full of 
color, the music excellent, and the scent of exotics almost 
overpowering. Everyone seemed intoxicated with gay- 
ety. In that cosmopolitan crowd hearts were lighter and 
talk more free than in the ordinary London ballroom, 
although experienced ones knew that here, amid this 
brilliant assembly, there were many strange undercur- 
rents affecting the prestige of monarchs and the welfare 
of nations. 

“So you are to marry, Mabel,” I observed when, after 
waltzing, I led her into an ante-room, and she sat down 
to eat an ice. 

“Yes, at last,” she sighed, looking up at me with a pair 
of mischievous dark eyes. She was about twenty-two. 


UNDERCURRENTS OF DIPLOMACY. 159 


and rather pretty. ‘T’m to be married in June, and we 
are coming to Europe for a twelve months’ tour. You 
are married already. I’d so much like to meet your wife. 
Since I’ve been here this evening I’ve heard nothing but 
admiration of her. You’ve the envy of all your male 
friends, Geoffrey.” 

I laughed. I confess that by the sensation Ella had 
caused I felt flattered. 

“I’ll introduce you when I have a chance,” I said. 
“Our congratulations are mutual. You are to have a 
husband; I have already a wife.” 

“I hope you’ll find the Biblical quotation correct,” she 
laughed, peering at me over her gauzy fan. “Do you 
know the words?” 

“No,” I replied, “I’m not good at remembering quota- 
tions.” 

“Well, the Bible says. Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a 
good thing.’ I hope you’ll be no exception to that 
rule.” 

“Thanks,” I replied. “I don’t know what it says 
about husbands, but, however it may be worded, you 
have my heartiest wishes for long life and good luck.” 

At that instant Ella, on the' arm of a young Italian 
marquis, possessed of a longer title than his rent-roll, 
entered. I sprang up at once and introduced her, and 
soon we all four were chatting merrily. When, a quarter 
of an hour later, we rose to return to the ballroom, Ella, 
radiant and happy, walked beside me. In reply to my 
question, she declared that she was enjoying herself im- 
mensely, but as we were re-entering the salon she 
clutched my arm, and in a half-frightened whisper ex- 
claimed, — 

“Look! Geoffrey. Look at that servant in uniform 
over there. Why, it’s our man, Helmholtz!” 

I glanced in the direction she had indicated, and sure 
enough there was the detective Renouf, who, in the 
Laing household, posed as Carl Helmholtz, in the hand- 
some blue-and-gold livery of the Embassy, handing an, 
ice to a lady. Instantly I grasped the situation. 

“It is a striking resemblance, dearest,” I said; “noth- 
ing more.” 


l6o WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

^‘But I’m certain it’s Helmholtz,” she declared ex- 
citedly. “Take me closer to him.” 

“When we were at Pont Street this afternoon, Helm- 
holtz was there, wasn’t he?” 

“Yes. He brought tea into the drawing-room.” 

“Well, no doubt he is at home now. This fellow may 
be his brother, or something.” 

For a moment we stood watching, and saw him make a 
servile bow. Fortunately he turned his back upon us, 
hastening to execute some command, otherwise he must 
have come towards us and met us face to face. 

“I’m certain it is Helmholtz,” Ella exclaimed, in a 
tone of conviction. 

“Without doubt it is a very striking resemblance,” I 
admitted. “But the servants of an Embassy are not 
recruited from the nearest registry office. Besides, they 
would never employ a German here.” 

At that moment Paul approached and claimed her for 
the next dance, while I wandered on alone amid the 
crowd, my mind full of strange thoughts. 

Presently, while watching the dancers, I chanced to 
glance aside and recognized a sparse, well-known figure 
approaching. It was the Earl of Warnham. Attired in 
plain evening dress of a rather antiquated cut, he wore no 
decorations, save the broad blue ribbon across his narrow 
strip of shirt front, the highest honor his Sovereign had 
bestowed upon him. I was surprised to find him there, 
for I had believed him to be at Osborne in attendance on 
Her Majesty. 

“Ah, Deedes,” he exclaimed in a low voice, with a 
slight smile upon his colorless, wizened face. “In the 
enemy’s camp — eh?” 

“Yes, my wife wished to come,” I explained. 

“Of course. Women like this sort of thing. I have 
never met her. You must introduce her presently.” 

“She will esteem it an honor,” I said, adding, “She is 
over there in a cream dress, dancing with Verblioudo- 
vitch.” 

He glanced in their direction, and started perceptibly. 
For some moments his keen eyes followed her. Then I 
noticed that his gray brows contracted, and his usually 


IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. l6l 

expressionless face wore a strange, ominous look such 
as I had never before detected upon it. 

'Ts that your wife?” he asked huskily, turning and 
eying me curiously. 

“Yes.” 

“Was it she who alleged that your friend Og‘e was the 
victim of foul plav?” he inquired with emphasis, in a 
voice that betrayed dismay. 

“It was,” I replied. 

The Foreign Minister sighed. As he again turned his 
eyes upon the pair at that moment gliding down the room 
to the strains of the latest fashionable refrain his brow 
darkened, and his teeth were firmly set. A silence fell 
between us. 


CHAPTER XXL 
IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. 

On our return home in the early hours, Ella sat before 
the fire in her cosy boudoir, her opera-cape still about her 
shoulders, resting her tired head upon a cushion, and 
staring thoughtfully into the dying embers, while I 
lounged near, smoking a final cigarette. Times out of 
number I tried to account for the Earl’s agitation when 
he had encountered her. It was evident they were not 
strangers, although when I had introduced them he 
treated her with studied courtesy. There were, I remem- 
bered, many suspicious incidents connected with her as 
yet unexplained, nevertheless, from that memorable even- 
ing when Dudley and I had dined at “The Nook” and 
we had become reconciled, I had never doubted that she 
loved me. Perhaps I had been foolish, I told myself. I 
ought to have obtained full explanation of the several 
circumstances that had caused me such uneasiness before 
marriage, yet I had abandoned all active effort to ascer- 
tain the truth, because of the intensity of my passion. 
Her beauty had captivated me; her voice held me spell- 
bound, and because I loved her I could not bring myself 
to suspect her. For a long time she sat, reflecting 
u 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


162 

gravely upon the events of the evening; then, shivering 
slightly, rose and went to her room, leaving me alone 
to ponder over her sudden seriousness. 

Sometimes a slight shadow of suspicion would flit 
across my mind, as it often had on finding her absent, yet 
when she spoke caressingly to me I at once found myself 
laughing at the foolishness of my thoughts, basking in 
the sun of her brilliant beauty, heedless and content. 
Prior to our marriage I had been madly jealous of every 
slight attention paid to her by one of my own sex, of 
whatever age, but now, recognizing how marvelously fair 
she was, and that wherever she went she became the cen- 
ter of attraction, I was no longer angry with any of our 
guests who paid court to her. Beck dined with us fre- 
quently, always gay and amusing, while once or twice 
Verblioudovitch had also accepted our invitation, and 
treated Ella with the courtliness of the polished diplo- 
matist. I did not invite the latter often, because of her 
antipathy towards him. When, after his first visit, I had 
asked her wha-'. she thought of him, she had replied, — 

“There is something about him I don’t like, dearest. I 
cannot explain what it is. Perhaps it is his excessive 
politeness; or it may be his profuse flattery that bores 
me; nevertheless, I seem to have a feeling that I ought to 
avoid him.” 

“He’s one of the best of fellows, darling,” I said, laugh- 
ing at her misgivings. “In my bachelor days we were 
very close friends.” 

“I don’t like him,” she answered frankly. I hate all 
Russians.” 

“I thought you said once you would like to go to 
Russia?” 

“Yes, I am anxious to see the country, but the Rus- 
sians I have met I have always detested,” she said, add- 
ing, with seriousness, “Now that I am your wife I may 
speak plainly, may I not?” 

“Of course, darling.” 

“Then, in your own interests, promise me to avoid Paul 
Verblioudovitch as much as possible.” 

“Why?” I asked, surprised. 

“Because — well,” she answered in hesitation; “because 


IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. 163 

I have some curious, inexplicable feeling that he is not 
your friend.” 

Then it occurred to me that they had been sitting to- 
gether that evening in a cosy corner in the drawing- 
room, deep in conversation, and it might be that Paul 
had uttered some compliments meant to be polite, but 
which she had misconstrued into flirtation. In that case, 
it was only natural that, loving me so deeply as she did, 
she should warn me that Paul was not my friend. 

‘Tn what way do you suspect him of being my enemy?” 
I inquired. 

“He is untrustworthy,” she replied, an answer that 
tended to confirm my supposition. On several other oc- 
casions I laughed at her fears, but she always made the 
same reply, that she believed he was not straightforward, 
and even went so far as to ask me not to invite him to our 
house in future. This caused me some little annoyance, 
for of all men Paul Verblioudovitch was one of my most 
valued friends; and, further, while she had conceived a 
violent dislike towards him, she nevertheless allowed her- 
self to be flattered by the man of whom I had once been 
madly jealous — Andrew Beck. 

Thus the early days of our married life proceeded, bliss- 
ful and full of love, but with one tiny cloud of mystery 
that, although growing no larger, still cast its ominous 
shadow ever between us. Sometimes when alone I pon- 
dered deeply, wondering whether my confidence had 
after all been ill-placed, puzzled over one or two incidents 
such as I have already described. Trifling as they were 
in themselves, they nevertheless caused me much un- 
easiness, yet when Ella entered, bright and radiant, greet- 
ing me with an affectionate caress, I could not doubt her. 
I knew that, however suspicious her actions might ap- 
pear in my eyes, she loved me honestly, with a passion 
as fierce and uncontrollable as my own. 

Meanwhile Renouf, who explained his absence on the 
night of the Embassy ball to Ella’s complete satisfaction, 
still continued to remain in service at Pont Street, and 
each time we dined there he hovered about us noiselessly 
and ever watchful, like a spirit of evil. When our eyes 
met, I saw in his a cold glance of contemptuous triumph. 


i 64 whoso findeth a wife. 

for he had already seen that I feared to denounce him for 
Paul’s sake, and he was pursuing his mysterious investi- 
gations, whatever they were, without let or hindrance. 
Mrs. Laing, sighing as stout ladies will, was always loud 
in his praise, declaring him to be the most steady and at- 
tentive servant that had ever been in her service, while 
Ella expressed a wish that we could meet with a man pos- 
sessed of similar virtues. A dozen times I longed to take 
my wife and her mother into my confidence, but dared 
not, for the silence imposed upon me was absolutely im- 
perative. 

One day, early in January, I had received a message 
from Lord Warnham to call at his house in Berkeley 
Square, but when I arrived found a note stating that he 
had been compelled unexpectedly to go down to Lord 
Maybury’s seat in Hertfordshire to consult him. There- 
fore I left, and it being a cold but invigorating afternoon 
I resolved to walk home. Proceeding along Piccadilly 
and Knightsbridge, I skirted the Park, and entering 
Kensington Gardens by the Alexandra Gate, strolled 
towards Kensington in the full enjoyment of a cigar. 
Ella had, I knew, gone to Pont Street, her mother being 
rather unwell, therefore I walked leisurely beneath the 
leafless, smoke-blackened trees. The short, gloomy day 
was now fast drawing to a close, and, with the falling 
gloom, a chill wind had sprung up, whistling mourn- 
fully through the bare branches, causing me to turn up 
my coat-collar and draw on my gloves. I fancied my- 
self alone, for at four o’clock in winter the place is dis- 
mal and deserted. Having passed Queen’s Gate, I was 
approaching the Broad Walk, when I was attracted by 
two figures strolling slowly together in front of me, a 
man and a woman. At first I took no heed, and would 
in a few moments have overtaken them, when it occurred 
to me that the silhouette of the woman was familiar even 
in the dusk. Again I looked, and noticed that she was 
fashionably dressed in a dark brown tailor-made gown, 
a sealskin cape and close-fitting hat. Next second I 
realized the amazing truth. 

The woman walking before me was Ella. 

Her companion, a tall, broad-shouldered young man. 


IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. 165 

wore a long drab overcoat of distinctly “horsey’' cut, a 
silk hat of the latest shape, and displayed a good deal of 
shirt cufif. He was evidently a fop, and his whole exte- 
rior, from his varnished boots to the velvet cuffs of his 
overcoat, pronounced him to be a cad. Leisurely he 
strode by her side, smoking a cigarette, and earnest in 
conversation, now and then emphasizing his words by 
striking the palm of one gloved hand with his fist. 

Once, as I dogged their footsteps, my teeth clenched 
in fierce anger, I heard her give vent to a rippling peal 
of laughter that echoed among the black, gaunt tree 
trunks. I knew by that laugh she was tantalizing him. 
My first impulse was to rush up to them and demand an 
explanation, but my second thought had been to hold my 
anger in control, and ascertain the true extent of her 
perfidy. Was not this the second time I had detected 
Ella walking alone with a man in lover-like attitude? 

I loved her with all my heart, and had believed im- 
plicitly that she reciprocated my affection, yet here, in 
this single moment, the cup of happiness was dashed 
from my lips. I knew I had been the victim of base de- 
ception. While I, fool that I had been, had fondly im- 
agined that she loved me; she had abandoned all self- 
respect and allowed herself to walk in a public garden 
with a chance-met acquaintance. Sonia’s ominous words 
recurred to me, and I saw how I had been tricked and 
betrayed. The pretty refugee was right, notwithstanding 
the denunciations of the diplomatist and the spy, both of 
whom had some motive in discrediting her statements. 

With eager eyes and heavy heart I followed the pair 
cautiously, fearing each moment lest either should turn 
and detect my presence. Apparently they were too 
deeply engrossed in each other’s talk, which, although 
carried on in a tone so low that I could catch no single 
word, seemed scarcely of an amatory nature, judging 
from the man’s gestures. To me it appeared rather as 
if he were urging her to do something from which she 
shrank. Once, while he spoke, she stopped short and 
stretched out both hands towards him in an attitude of 
supplication. But he did not heed her,^ for, giving vent 
to a low laugh, he continued, emphasizing his words as 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


1 66 

before. Then, clenching her hands, she stamped her foot 
in anger, and tossing her head in contempt, walked for- 
ward again, heedless of her companion’s threatening at- 
titude. 

From that moment both grew calmer, for the man, 
uttering words of forgiveness, snatched up her hand and 
imprinted a kiss upon it. For a brief second she allowed 
* her hand to linger in his grasp, then withdrew it gently, 
but firmly, regarding him with earnestness the while. 
This action aroused my anger to a fierce, murderous 
hatred. With difficulty I managed to preserve an out- 
ward calm, because, in my state of mind, I felt compelled 
to watch and wait. Yet, if I had had a weapon ready to 
my hand at that moment, I verily believe that I must 
have thrown myself upon this arrogant cad, and merci- 
lessly killed him. 

The manner in which his hat was set upon his head, 
slightly askew, in the manner of the London “ ’Arry,” 
and his over-burdening mannerism, were in themselves 
sufficient to show the type of lover my wife cultivated. 
As I stepped softly behind them in the gloom, I told my- 
self that she must leave my house that night, or I should. 
I felt in my throat a choking sensation, for I had loved 
her so fervently that this discovery of her falseness had 
utterly unnerved me, and even in those moments of fierce 
anger and hatred I confess that tears welled in my eyes. 
Ella was the only woman I had ever loved, yet she who 
had taken her marriage vows only a few short months 
before had already discarded me for this over-dressed 
idiot, who would be termed in vulgar parlance a “boun- 
der.” 

Perhaps he did not know her to be married. This 
thought took possession of me. When their quarrel 
ended it became manifest that Ella herself was endeav- 
oring to fascinate and hold him, just as she had charmed 
me, by the softness of her speech, l^er exquisite grace, 
and her wonderful beauty. She spoke quietly, with her 
dainty finger-tips laid lightly upon his arm, while he lis- 
tened, gazing earnestly into her face, enchanted. 

To-night, I told myself, the bonds uniting me to Ella 
should be forever severed. I remembered the many oc- 


TO ERR IS HUMAN. 


167 

casions when she had been absent, visiting imaginary 
friends ; I recollected the evening she brought home the 
violets and preserved them careiully in water until they 
smelt so faint that she was compelled to throw them 
away; I had not forgotten the fact that blades of grass 
did not grow in the squalid, overcrowded streets of mod- 
ern Camberwell. I glanced around at the grass on every 
side. Perhaps she frequented that place, and took clan- 
destine walks daily with her lover beneath those leafless 
trees. The thought provoked my bitter hatred, and I 
know not how I refrained from facing the pair. I man- 
aged, however, to hold myself back, watching them ex- 
change a tender farewell at the gate that led in Ken- 
sington High Street, next the Palace Hotel, and while 
the man raised his hat politely and, turning, walked away 
in the direction of Knightsbridge, Ella, her face radiant 
and happy, bowed and set out homeward in the oppo- 
site direction. 

Beneath the lamp in the gateway I had, in those brief 
seconds, obtained a glimpse of his face. It was tkat of a 
young man of about two-and-twenty, with strongly 
marked features, fair-haired, and of quite a different type 
than I had conjectured. The features were rather re- 
fined, by no means those of a cad, but rather those of a 
well-bred young idler, who affected the dress and man- 
ners of that class of youths who frequent the Cafe Monico 
on Sunday evenings, the slaves of the counter. 

Once he glanced back to Ella, but she did not turn; 
then he went on and was lost in the darkness, while I 
followed my wife’s neat figure through the bustling 
throng of foot-passengers. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

TO ERR IS HUMAN. 

Instead of keeping behind her straight home, I turned ' 
from the main road, and with my mind full of gloomy 
thoughts, wandered about the dark, quiet thoroughfares 


i68 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


in the neighborhood of Campden Hill until, having 
walked for over an hour undecided how to act, I awoke 
to a consciousness that I was before my own house. 

When I entered I opened a telegram lying on the hall 
table, and found it was from Lord Warnham, stating that 
he was leaving the Premier’s suddenly, and asking me to 
call at Berkeley Square at six. It was then a quarter to 
six, and I saw that even by cab I must be ten minutes 
late for the appointment. 

“Has my wife returned, Juckes?” I asked my faithful 
man, who stood ready to relieve me of hat and coat. 

“Yes, sir. She returned an hour ago, and is now in the 
drawing-room.” 

My first impulse was to return to Berkeley Square 
without seeing her, but unable longer to bear the sus- 
pense, I allowed Juckes to take my things, and entered 
the room, where she awaited me. 

“Ah! Geoffrey!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet 
with an expression of joy, and coming forward to meet 
me. “I expected you home long ago, dearest.” And she 
raised her face for the habitual kiss. 

“Oh,” I said coldly, placing her away from me without 
caressing her. “Have you been home long?” 

“A long, long time,” she answered, regarding my cold- 
ness with unfeigned surprise. 

“Where have you been to-day?” I inquired, rather 
sharply, taking up a position on the hearthrug, with my 
back to the bright wood fire. 

“This morning I went to Mr. Praga’s studio in Horn- 
ton Street, and gave him a sitting. He is painting my 
portrait for the Academy, you know.” 

“Yes,” I answered. “He told me so at the club the 
other day. Where else have you been?” 

“Why are you so anxious to have a complete record of 
my doings?” she asked, pouting. “You seem absurdly 
suspicious.” 

I smiled bitterly. Since her return she had exchanged 
her tailor-made gown for a handsome dinner-dress, and 
wore as her only ornament a string of pearls, my wed- 
ding gift. She stood gazing at me with her dark blue 


TO ERR IS HUMAN. 


169 


eyes wide open, and brows arched in well-feigned re- 
proach. 

“You did not return to lunch,” I said quietly. 

“No, I went to Pont Street,” she answered. “Mother 
was so fearfully upset.” 

“Why?” 

“Last night she detected Helmholtz in the act of open- 
ing a letter he had taken from the postman. It contained 
a cheque, and she was compelled to discharge him at a 
moment’s notice.” 

“I understood he was quite a model servant,” I said, in 
genuine surprise at this latest development. To me it 
was astounding that a shrewd officer like Renouf should 
have thus allowed himself to be caught napping. 

“Mother thought most highly of him,” she went on. 
“But it now appears that for the past few weeks she has 
had suspicions that her letters were being tampered with, 
for two cheques sent by tenants for rent have been 
stolen.” 

“I never thought very much of him,” I said. 

“Neither did I,” she declared. “He had such a silent, 
cunning way, and moved so softly, that dozens of times 
when r have turned suddenly I have been quite startled 
to find him standing close to me. I’m glad mother has 
got rid of him. She packed him off bag and baggage.” 

“Did he protest his innocence?’^ 

“No. He treated her with cool indifference, placed his 
things in his portmanteau leisurely, hailed a cab, and 
went off without asking for his wages.” 

I was silent. The reason Renouf should descend to 
steal cheques was inexplicable. One thing, however, ap- 
peared clear, namely, that he had taken an unusual irl- 
terest in the nature of Mrs. Laing’s correspondence. To 
me it was a matter of congratulation that as he had been 
detected by his mistress and discharged, he could not cast 
upon me the blame for his betrayal. 

“What did you do after lunch?” I at last inquired, 
returning to my charge. 

“I went shopping,” she replied, smiling. 

“With whom?” 

“Alone” 


170 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

“Were you alone the whole time?’^ I inquired, regard- 
ing her intently. 

Her lips quivered slightly and her glance wavered. 

“Yes,^’ she answered, “I did not meet anyone I knew.’* 

“That is a lie, Ella!” I cried. 

“It is not,” she stammered, pale and agitated. “I have 
told you th^ truth.” 

“To prevaricate is utterly useless,” I said, angrily. “I 
followed you through Kensington Gardens, where you 
were walking with your lover. I — ” 

“My lover!” she cried hoarsely, in dismay. “He — he 
is not my lover. I had never seen him before!” 

“Then by your own admission you have abandoned all 
respect for me and yourself. You are addicted to stroll- 
ing alone with any idiot who flatters you.” 

“I swear I do not,” she retorted. “You misjudge me 
entirely.” And she placed her trembling hand upon my 
arm. 

But I shook it off wrathfully, saying, “I have discov- 
ered the truth, alas ! too late. While makiug pretense to 
love me you prefer the society of other men. I was a 
blind fool, or I should have discovered the fact, plain to 
everybody else, that Ogle was your lover, and that you 
mourned for him when he met the fate he so justly de- 
served.” 

“He never uttered one word of love to me, Geoffrey,” 
she protested. “How can you make such horrible 
charges against me when I love you so dearly,” she cried, 
bursting into a torrent of tears. 

“Because!” I said, with emphasis, “because I have my- 
self followed you this evening. Surely Kensington Gar- 
dens is not the spot where a wife should take recreation, 
unless clandestinely, as you have done! No, this is not 
the first occasion you have lied to me, Ella; but it shall 
be the last.” 

“The last!” she gasped, glancing up at me. “What do 
you mean?” 

“I mean that I can have no further confidence in you, 
and that we are better apart.” 

“You don’t intend to leave me. Surely you would 
never be so cruel, Geoffrey. It would kill me,” 


TO ERR IS HUMAN. 


171 

“I have loved you, Ella,” I said hoarsely, after a pause, 
brief and full of suspense. “No man could have loved a 
woman with a passion more tender than I have done, but 
now that I have discovered how basely I have been de- 
ceived, my affection has turned to hatred.” 

“You hate me!” she wailed. “Ah, no, you cannot — 
you shall not,” she cried, as, rushing towards me, she 
threw both arms around my neck, and, notwithstanding 
my efforts to avert her, pressed her tear-stained face to 
mine. 

Roughly I unclasped her arms and cast her from me, 
saying,— 

“I have resolved. Nothing will cause me to recon- 
sider my decision. We must part.” 

“It is not like you, Geoffrey, to be cruel to a woman,” 
she said reproachfully, standing before me. “I admit I 
have acted foolishly, but that man you saw was not my 
lover. I care for no one except your own dear self.” 

“Terms of endearment are unnecessary,” I answered 
impatiently, turning from her. “Such expressions from 
one who has so grossly deceived me are absolutely 
nauseating. I have striven for your social advancement 
and have loved you dearly, but from this moment you 
are my wife only in name.” 

She buried her face in her hands and was seized by a fit 
of hysterical sobbing. All her self-control had vanished 
at the instant she realized that I knew the truth, and she 
now stood before me bent and penitent. 

“Forgive me,” she whispered earnestly. “Forgive me, 
Geoffrey.” 

“No,” I answered, with firmness. “I cannot trust 
you” 

“Overlook this incident, and I will never again give 
you cause for jealousy,” she exclaimed. “I will do any- 
thing you ask, only have patience with me.” 

“I have already had patience,” I answered. “Yet, de- 
ceived as I am daily, we can live together no longer.” 

“But I love you,” she declared, with fierce earnest- 
ness, fixing her fathomless eyes upon me. “If I lose you 
I shall kill myself.” 

“It is your own fault entirely,” I said. “You have 


iy2 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


chosen to act in this manner, and whatever are the con- 
sequences they are of your own seeking. I suppose you 
will tell me next that this man who was with you com- 
pelled you to meet him.” 

“That is the absolute truth,” she faltered. 

“Ah, always the same lame tale,” I observed in dis- 
gust. “I have not forgotten that night at ‘The Nook’ 
when I watched you walking with Beck. No, Ella. 
There is some strange mystery about it all that I don’t 
like. You pretend to love me; but you have some ulte- 
rior motive.” 

“There is a mystery, it is true,” she admitted, her eyes 
dimmed with tears. “A mystery so strange and startling 
that when you know the truth you will stand aghast and 
dumbfounded. But with its elucidation you will have 
knowledge of how I have suffered and striven for your 
sake ; therefore I can only pray that the revelations that 
must accrue may be hastened, for, although to-day you 
regard me as base and deceitful, you will then learn how 
much one woman has endured and sacrificed because she 
loved you.” 

“Then we must part until this mystery is cleared up,” 
I said calmly, my heart full of grief. “You refuse to take 
me, your husband, into your confidence, therefore I can 
place no further reliance in your word.” 

“Think,” she cried, clutching my arms convulsively. 
“Why should the happiness of both of us be wrecked by 
a mere misunderstanding?” 

“A misunderstanding!” I echoed. “It is assuredly 
more than that.” 

“No,” she answered, endeavoring to stifle her sobs. 
“You misunderstand me, believing me false to you, 
whereas I am acting^solely in our mutual interests.” 

“To walk alone with a stranger is surely not acting in 
your husband’s interests,” I observed bitterly. 

“Ah, you are mistaken,” she said quickly. “When all 
is explained you will regret the cruel words you have 
uttered this evening.” 

“Have I, then, no cause to object to your acquaintance 
with this man?” I inquired, looking sharply at her. 


TO ERR IS HUMAN. 


173 


“None whatever. He is neither my lover nor my 
friend.” 

“What is his name?” 

“I do not know. He did not tell me,” she replied. 

“Was this the only occasion you had met?” 

“It was.” 

“He spoke to you casually in the street, I suppose?” 

“No, we met by appointment at Victoria Station,” she 
answered quite frankly. 

“By appointment! Then you knew him!” 

“No, our meeting was arranged by a third person. It 
was by no means of an amatory character, I assure you.” 

“What was its object?” I asked. 

Slowly she shook her head. “I cannot tell you without 
relating to you facts which I dare not yet divulge.” 

“Ah! as I thought,” I cried in anger. “You refuse 
always to explain. As each week passes the mystery 
surrounding you increases.” 

“Unfortunately I cannot prevent it,” she answered in 
a low, earnest tone. “Before we married I told you 
plainly that I intended to seek the truth of the con- 
spiracy against Dudley’s life, and you did not object.” 

“Why not leave that wretched affair to the police and 
secure our own happiness?” I urged. 

“Because the police are powerless. They can have no 
clue.” 

“Is it then absolutely necessary that you should attain 
this end?” I inquired dubiously. “Are you ready to 
sacrifice your own home and husband in order to ascer- 
tain the truth regarding a crime?” 

“Yes, it is absolutely imperative,” she replied emphat- 
ically. “Before perfect happiness can be ours we must 
both be aware of the causes which led to Dudley’s sudden 
death. Towards that end I am striving, and knowing 
what I do, I am regardless of your suspicions and your 
cruel words. If we part — well, it will be you who one day 
will be filled with bitter regret; and as for me, I shall 
not pause in my merciless quest.” 

Often she had told me that to ascertain the true cause 
of Dudley’s death was, next to her duty as my wife, her 
main object in life, and these words, uttered with an 


174 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


earnestness that was genuine, bore out her most frequent 
declarations. Glancing at the facts as a whole, it was 
not surprising that I should have suspected Dudley of 
having been her lover, whose death she intended to 
avenge. 

In silence and hesitation I paced the room that she 
had furnished with such exquisite taste. A dozen times 
she asked forgiveness, but no word passed my lips. She 
stood motionless, her head bent in submission, her hands 
clasped before her, awaiting my decision. 

Her pale, tear-stained face betrayed signs of a terrible, 
breathless suspense, she fearing that I intended to cast 
her ofl, while I could not bring myself to any firm belief 
that her declarations of affection were genuine. Between 
us there yawned a gulf of darkness and mystery which 
hourly grew wider and more impassable. 

“Tell me that you’ll still be patient and wait,” she im- 
plored at last. “Surely you can see how intensely I love 
you and how utterly aimless will be my life if we part.” 

“This mystery is, I confess, Ella, driving me to distrac- 
tion,” I said, halting at last before her. “Cannot you 
confide in me? I will preserve silence, I promise.” 

“No, no,” she gasped in fear. “I dare not.” 

Her attitude was one of deep dejection, yet I could not 
fail to notice, even at this moment of her abject despair, 
how beautiful she was. But a look of unutterable terror 
was in her deep blue eyes, and upon her handsome feat- 
ures was an expression as though, dreading exposure, 
she were haunted by some terrible ghost of the past. 

“You told me this once before,” I said gravely, “and I 
trusted you. To-day I have discovered my confidence 
ill-placed.” 

“Trust me once again,” she cried hoarsely. “Only 
once, and I will show you ere long that your suspicions 
are utterly without foundation.” 

I took another turn up and down the drawing-room, 
my hands clasped behind my back, my gaze fixed upon 
the carpet. I was still undecided. 

With a sudden impulse she rushed forward, and fling- 
ing her warm arms about my neck, kissed me, next sec- 
ond bursting into tears and burying her face upon my 


TO ERR IS HUMAN. 175 

shoulder. My hand unconsciously stroked her hair, and, 
bending, I pressed my lips upon her soft cheek. 

Then she knew that I had forgiven, and holding back 
her sobs with difficulty, raised her face, and kissing me 
passionately, thanked me in a low, broken voice, assuring 
me that I should never regret the step I had taken. 

During half-an-hour we remained together, she full of 
love and confidence, I admiring and hopeful. I was glad 
I had not acted rashly, nor left her as I had intended, and 
as we went in to dinner arm in arm, we laughed together, 
joyous in each other’s love. 

After we had eaten, I smoked a cigarette and lingered 
as long as possible, happy with my well-beloved; then 
kissing her fondly, I was compelled to take a hansom to 
Berkeley Square, promising her to return at the earliest 
possible moment, and expressing confidence that our 
love would last always. 

The Earl, grumbling at my tardy arrival, was busy in 
his library with a number of important dispatches relat- 
ing to our affairs in the East. When he had expressed 
displeasure that I had not been waiting to receive him, 
he added, — 

‘‘But there, I suppose now you are married, Deedes, 
your wife is exacting; they always are. She likes you to 
dine with her, eh?” 

“Yes,” I admitted, smiling. “I did dine at home.” 

“Ah, I thought so,” snapped the shrewd old Minister. 
“A good dinner and your wife’s smiles were of more 
consequence to you than England’s prestige with the 
Sultan, — eh?” 

I made no answer to this sarcasm, but began busying 
myself with the correspondence, packing it away in the 
dispatch-bag and sealing it for delivery to Hammerton, 
the messenger, who was waiting in an adjoining room 
ready to take it to Constantinople. 

Not until eleven o’clock was I able to get away from 
Berkeley Square, and leaving the aged statesman alone, 
deeply immersed in the puzzling applications for ad- 
vice of all sorts from Her Majesty’s representatives at 
the various Courts of Europe, I drove back to Phillimore 
Gardens. 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


176 

On arrival home my first question of Juckes was 
whether Ella was in the drawing-room. 

“No, sir. Madame is out, sir.” 

“Out! When did she go out?” 

“About an hour after you had left, sir,” replied the 
man. “She has gone into the country, I believe.” 

“Into the country? What makes you think so?” 

“Because she put on her traveling dress, and took two 
trunks with her,” he answered. “Roberts, her maid, 
says she packed the boxes herself three days ago.” 

“Did she say where she was going?” I inquired breath- 
lessly. 

“No, sir. She left no message with anyone.” 

Entering the drawing-room with my overcoat still on, 
I noticed, lying upon her little rosewood escritoire, a 
note addressed to me. 

Eagerly I took it up, tore it open, and read its con- 
tents. There were only a few hurriedly-scrawled words 
— a brief and formal farewell. 

“You cannot trust me,” she wrote, “therefore we are 
best apart. Do not attempt to follow me, for you can- 
not find me.. Do not think ill of me, for even if I have 
wronged and deceived you, I have, nevertheless, been 
your friend.” 

It commenced fol’mally, without any endearing term, 
and concluded abruptly with the two words, “Your 
Wife.” 

For a few moments I stood with it in my hand, star- 
ing at it in blank amazement. Then it occurred to me 
that in that very escritoire she kept all her correspon- 
dence, and it was more than probable that I might learn 
the truth from some of the letters therein contained. 

I endeavored to open it, but it was, as usual, locked. 
She had taken the key. In my sudden excitement I 
called to Juckes to bring a hammer, and with a few 
sharp blows broke open the sloping, leather-covered top, 
finding a number of letters addressed in unfamiliar hand- 
writing. 

One, larger than the rest, crumpled, dirty and worn, as 
if it had reposed in someone’s pocket for a long period, I 


A TERRIBLE TRUTH. 177 

took out, and eagerly opened beneath the soft-shaded 
lamp. 

“My God!” I cried aloud, scarcely able to believe my 
own eyes, when next instant I realized the terrible truth. 
“My God! I had never suspected this!” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A TERRIBLE TRUTH. 

Ella’s cold, formal adieu stunned me. I stood open- 
mouthed, petrified. We had parted on the best of terms, 
she kissing me affectionately, and with wifely solicitude 
bidding me hasten back; yet in my absence she had de- 
parted, evidently carrying out some pre-arranged plan. 
Her maid, Roberts, had noticed her packing her trunks 
three days before, therefore it was certain that she meant 
to desert me as soon as opportunity offered. 

Unaccountable and astounding as was her sudden 
flight, the discovery I had made among the papers in 
her escritoire was even more amazing. It held me stupe- 
fied and aghast. 

The paper I held in my hand was the original of the 
secret convention between England and Germany; the 
document which had been stolen from me, transmitted by 
telegraph to the Russian Foreign Office, and had nearly 
caused a terrible and disastrous European war. 

When I took it from among the letters and saw its 
neat, formal writing and sprawly signatures, I gazed 
upon it in blank amazement, unable at first to realize the 
startling truth. There was, however, no room for doubt. 
It was the actual document which had been so inge- 
niously purloined, for it reposed in the escritoire sfill in 
its official envelope. The great black seal affixed by the 
Earl of Warnham had been broken, and both envelope 
and document had the appearance of having at some time 
or other been folded small, besides being sadly crumpled. 

Beneath the shaded light I examined the envelope 
carefully, and detected a faint carmine streak upon it; 

12 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


178 

then placing it to my nostrils, found that it exuded a stale 
odor of sampaguita. In an instant the truth was plain. 
The pink discoloration had been caused by rouge; the 
scent was Ella’s favorite perfume, which she always pro- 
cured from Paris. No doubt the document had been 
carried for a considerable period in her pocket for safety, 
and become crumpled, as papers will if carried in a 
woman’s dress. While the envelope might easily have 
absorbed the odor of that unmistakable perfume from her 
handkerchief, the streak of rouge puzzled me, for I had 
never suspected her of an artificial complexion, nor had 
I ever seen the hare’s foot and carmine among her toilet 
articles. 

‘‘Tell Roberts I wish to speak to her,” I said, turning 
to Juckes, who had stood by in silence, puzzled at my 
strange action of breaking the top of the escritoire. 

He obeyed, and in a few moments the neat, dark-eyed 
maid entered. 

“Roberts,” I exclaimed, “I want you to tell me some- 
thing. Does my wife use any carmine to give artificial 
color to her cheeks?” 

“Oh, no, sir,” the girl assured me. “Madame is very 
averse to the use of such things. Once or twice, when 
she has been going out at night, and looked unusually 
pale, I have suggested a little additional color, but she 
has always refused.” 

“Did she have any rouge or anything of that sort in her 
possession?” I inquired. 

“No, sir, I am quite certain she hadn’t.” 

“Why are you so confident?” 

“Because only the other day, when I was ill with a sick 
headache, madame urged me to use some color, as my 
face was so pale. Visitors were coming, she said, and 
she didn’t want me to look like a ghost. I told her that 
I had no carmine, and she remarked that she had none, 
therefore nothing could be done.” 

“When did my wife pack those two trunks she took 
with her this evening?” 

“Last Monday, sir,” the girl answered, slowly twisting 
her befrilled apron in her hands. “She received a note 


A TERRIBLE TRUTH. 179 

by boy-messenger, and immediately set about packing 
the boxes.” 

“Did she tell you anything?” I asked, adding confiden- 
tially, “I have reason to believe that my wife has left us, 
therefore anything you tell me may assist me in tracing 
her.” 

The girl glanced at me in genuine surprise. 

“Do you mean, sir, that madame has — has run away?” 
she gasped. 

“No — ^well, not exactly,” I stammered. “But did she 
tell you anything?” 

With eyes downcast the girl paused in hesitation, an- 
swering at last, “She didn’t actually tell me anything.” 

“But what do you know about her intentions?” 

“Nothing,” she answered. Then, after a pause, she 
added, “Well, to tell you the truth, sir, I had suspicions.” 

“Of what? Do not fear to speak because I am her 
husband,” I said reassuringly. “I may as well know the 
worst at once.” 

“She used frequently to receive notes from a gentle- 
man. They were brought by a commissionaire or by a 
man-servant, who waited for the answer. When they 
came I always knew that on the following day she would 
be absent many hours. 

“You believe that she met this mysterious individual — 
eh?” I asked huskily. 

“Yes, for she always told me never to admit to you that 
she had been long absent. Therefore I had suspicion that 
she met somebody clandestinely.” 

“What was his name?” 

“I have never been able to ascertain. Once I glanced 
at a note lying on madame’s dressing-table. It merely 
announced the writer’s intention to attend Lady Pear- 
son’s ‘at home,’ and was signed ‘X.’ ” 

“Well,” I said hoarsely, after a long silence. “What 
else?” 

“Nothing,” she replied. “That is all I know, sir.” 

“Has my wife taken her jewels?” I inquired. 

“No. She has left her jewel-case unlocked, but every 
thing is there. She has even left behind her wedding- 


l8o WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

‘‘Her wedding-ring!” I echoed, astounded and dis- 
mayed. “Then she has discarded me completely.” 

“Unfortunately it appears so, sir,” the girl observed 
gravely. 

“Very -vi^ell, Roberts,” I said in a broken voice. “Thank 
you. You may go.” 

The girl glanced at me for an instant, with a sad, pity- 
ing look, then turned and left, closing the door noise- 
lessly behind her. 

Alone, I sank into the chair utterly broken down, still 
holding in my nervous, trembling fingers the secret docu- 
ment that secured the peace and welfare of the two most 
powerful nations on earth. I had at last discovered the 
hideous truth. Ella, the woman whose grace and beauty 
had held me enmeshed, and whom I had loved with an 
intensity of passion that was all-consuming, was, after all, 
base and worthless. Although making a hollow pretense 
to love me, she had cast me aside for this mysterious man 
who signed himself with an initial, and who met her 
secretly almost daily. I had been a blind, devoted idiot, 
I knew, but until I had watched her in Kensington Gar- 
dens I had never suspected her of infamy. It seemed, 
however, that she had no sense of shame, and cared 
nought for my dishonor or despair. Her perfidy was now 
revealed in all its painful reality. Ella, whom I had al- 
ways regarded as pure, honest and trusting, was a woman 
of tarnished repute. The fact that she had the secret con- 
vention in her possession was, in itself, sufficient evidence 
that the mystery surrounding her was deep, and of no 
ordinary character. Sonia had warned me that she was 
my enemy, and this fact was now indeed vividly apparent. 

How she had become possessed of the stolen treaty 
was inexplicable. Full well she knew all the terrible 
anxiety its loss had caused me, and the sensation that its 
revelation had created throughout Europe. Times with- 
out number I had mentioned to her how anxious my 
chief was to recover the original, so that our enterprising 
friends in St. Petersburg could have no tangible proof 
that it had actually existed, yet she had given no sign 
that she knew anything of it, much less that it actually 
reposed in my own drawing-room. I did not fail, in 


A TERRIBLE TRUTH. 


l8l 


those moments of my despair, to recollect that she had 
been on the most intimate terms with Dudley Ogle, the 
man suspected to have been in the service of the Tzar’s 
Government, and as I sat in wonderment it became grad- 
ually impressed upon me that through those many 
months I had been basely tricked, and that Ella herself, 
charming and ingenuous as she seemed, was actually a 
secret agent of the enemies of England. 

Several facts that I recollected combined to produce 
this startling belief. Because of my confidential position 
as secretary to the Earl of Warnham, it was apparent that 
Ella, with the assistance of my whilom friend Dudley and 
the encouragement of her mother, had conspired to hold 
me beneath her spell. She had become my wife, not be- 
cause she had ever loved me, but because she could feign 
affection or hatred with equal impunity, and had some ul- 
terior motive in obtaining my confidence. Her firm re- 
solve to ascertain the true facts regarding Dudley’s mys- 
terious end showed plainly that if they were not lovers 
they had acted in complete accord, and what was more 
likely than that he, having stolen the secret convention, 
had on that memorable night at “The Nook” handed it 
to her, the instigator of the ingenious theft. Yet an hour 
or so later he died from some cause that neither doctors 
nor police had been able to determine. 

To her, the tragic occurrence was a mystery, as to all, 
and her refusal to render me any explanation of her sus- 
picious actions was, I now saw, quite natural. Held 
beneath the iron thraldom of her masters in St. Peters- 
burg, she dared not utter one word; hence I had re- 
mained in the outer darkness of doubt and ignorance. 

However it might be, one thing was certain. She had 
been unexpectedly parted from me, either by choice or 
compulsion. Perhaps it was that to pose as my wife was 
no longer necessary; yet if she were actually a spy, was 
it not curious that in departing she should overlook this 
document, of which the Ministry at St. Petersburg were 
so anxious to possess themselves. 

Again, as I sat alone before the cheerless grate, I re- 
flected that if she were in the pay of Russia, surely M. 
Grodekoff, the Ambassador, would have been acquainted 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


182 

with her. Besides, what reason could Renouf have had 
in making such careful inquiries, or why did Paul Ver- 
blioudovitch discredit the truths uttered by Sonia and 
urge me to marry the woman I loved? Nevertheless if, 
as I supposed, my position in the Foreign Office had 
caused me to be the victim of a clever and deeply-con- 
ceived conspiracy, it was scarcely surprising that the 
Tzar’s representative should disclaim all knowledge of 
the sweet-faced agent, or that Paul had praised her and 
cast obloquy upon Sonia in order that their plans, what- 
ever they were, should be achieved. Of the actions of 
Renouf, and his strange disregard for detection, I could 
form no satisfactory conclusion.- All I knew was that 
Ella’s career had been an unscrupulous and inglorious 
one, and that she had cast me aside as soon as her in- 
famous ends had been attained. 

The only person who could elucidate the mystery was 
Sonia, the pretty girl who had been denounced by Renouf 
as a murderess, and who was now in hiding in far-off 
Russia, in some out-of-the-world place where I could 
never hope to find her. If she were clever enough to 
elude the combined vigilance of the detective force of 
Europe, as undoubtedly she had done, there was but lit- 
tle hope that I could ever run her to earth. 

The mystery had, by Ella’s flight, been increased 
rather than explained, for the more I pondered the more 
deeply-rooted became the conviction that she had de- 
camped because she had cause to fear some strange de- 
velopment that would lead to her exposure and shame. 

After a time I roused myself, and taking from the 
broken escritoire the other letters it contained, five in 
number, examined them eagerly beneath the light. 

All were in the same hand, a heavy masculine one, 
written evidently with a quill. One by one I read them, 
finding that they contained appointments,^ which fully 
bore out her maid’s suspicions. 

''My dear Ella,” one ran, "to-morrow I shall be on the 
departure platform at King’s Cross Station at 11:30. I 
have good news for you. Come. — X.” 

Another regretted the writer’s inability to keep an 


A TERRIBLE TRUTH. 


183 

appointment, as he had been called unexpectedly to 
Paris, and was compelled to leave by the night mail from 
Charing Cross. He, however, promised to return in 
three days, and gave her the Grand Hotel as his address 
if she found it necessary to telegraph. 

Strangely enough, the letters contained no endearing 
terms either at their commencement or conclusion. For- 
mal and brief, they all related to appointments at various 
places in London where two persons might meet un- 
noticed by the crowd, and all were signed by the single 
mysterious initial. I stood with them in my hand for a 
long time, puzzled and hesitating, then placing them 
carefully in my pocket, together with the secret docu- 
ment I had so unexpectedly unearthed, I crammed on 
my hat and hastily drove to Pont Street. 

The house was in darkness, save for a light in the base- 
ment, and in answer to my summons, after a lapse of 
some minutes a tall, gaunt, woman in rusty black ap- 
peared in the area below. 

I was surprised at being thus met by a stranger, but 
inquired for Mrs. Laing. 

“Mrs. Laing ain’t at ’ome, sir,” answered the woman, 
looking up and speaking with a strong Cockney twang. 

“Not at home?” I exclaimed, surprised. “Where is 
she?” 

“She’s gone abroad somewheres, but I don’t know 
where,” the woman answered. “She’s sold all her valu- 
ables, discharged the servants, and left me ’ere as ’ouse- 
keeper.” 

“When did she go?” I asked. 

“This morning. I answered an advertisement in the 
Chronicle yesterday, and entered on my duties ’ere to- 
day. Quick, ain’t it?” 

The rapidity of her engagement I was compelled to 
admit, but proceeded to make further inquiry whether 
Mrs. Laing’s daughter had been there. 

“No, sir. No one’s been ’ere to-day, except a foreign- 
looking gentleman who asked if madame had left, and 
when I said that she had, he went away quite satisfied.” 

“What kind of a man was he?” 

“Tall and thin, with a longish dark beard.” 


184 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


The description did not correspond with anyone of my 
acquaintance ; therefore, after some further questions re- 
garding Mrs. Laing’s mysterious departure, I was com- 
pelled to wish the worthy woman good evening. She 
knew nothing of Mrs. Laing’s movements, not even the 
name of the terminus to which she had driven, such pains 
had Ella’s mother taken to conceal the direction in which 
she intended to travel. 

Some secret undoubtedly existed between mother and 
daughter; its nature held me perplexed and bewildered. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. 

The early morning was dry, frosty, but starless. The 
clock of that fashionable temple of Hymen, St. George’s, 
Hanover Square, was slowly chiming three as I alighted 
from a cab at the corner of Mount Street, and walking 
along Berkeley Square, ascended the steps of the Earl of 
Warnham’s great mansion, and rang its ponderous bell. 
The place was severe and gloomy enough by day, but in 
the silence and darkness of the night its exterior pre- 
sented a forbidding, almost ghostly appearance. It was 
an unusual hour for a call, but, knowing that a porter 
was on duty always, and that dispatches frequently ar- 
rived during the night, I had no hesitation in seeking an 
interview. 

In a few moments there was a grating sound of bolts 
drawn back, a clanking of chains, and the heavy door 
was slowly opened by the sleepy man, who, with a word 
of recognition, at once admitted me. Walking across 
the great square hall, warmed by a huge, roaring fire, 
I passed down the passage to the Earl’s study and rapped 
at the door, receiving an impatient permission to enter. 

The Minister for Foreign Affairs was sitting at his 
table where I had left him, with an empty tea-cup at his 
side, resting his pale, weary brow upon his hand and 
writing dispatches rapidly with his scratchy quill. His 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. 


185 

fire was nearly out, the pair of candles, in their heavy, old- 
fashioned silver candlesticks that stood upon his writing- 
table, had burned down almost to their sockets, and the 
strong smell of burnt paper that pervaded the book-lined 
den, showed that, with his innate cautiousness, he had de- 
stroyed documents that he did not desire should be seen 
by other eyes. 

The world-renowned statesman raised his head as I 
entered, gave vent to a low grunt of dissatisfaction, and 
continued writing at topmost speed. I saw I was unwel- 
come, but, well acquainted with his mannerisms and ec- 
centricities, walked to the fire, added more fuel, and 
waited in patience until he had finished. 

“Well,” he snarled, casting down his pen impatiently, 
and turning upon me at last. “I thought you, of all men, 
were aware that I do not desire interruption when at 
work.” 

“I should not have ventured to come at this hour,” I 
said, “were it not that the news I bring is of extreme 
importance.” 

He sighed, as was his habit when expecting further 
complications. 

“What is it’s nature?” he asked coldly, leaning back in 
his chair. “Abandon preliminaries, please, and come 
to the point. What is it?” 

“I have recovered the original of our secret convention 
with Germany,” I answered in as quiet a tone as I could 
assume. 

“You have!” he cried excitedly, starting up. “You 
are quite right to seek me at once — quite right. Where 
did you obtain it?” he inquired. 

Slowly I drew forth the precious document from my 
pocket, and handed it to him, still in the envelope that 
bore my own mark, with the remains of his broken seal. 
He took it eagerly and bent to the candles to examine it 
more closely. A few seconds sufficed to reassure him 
that the document was the genuine one. 

“It is fortunate that this has returned into our posses- 
sion,” he observed, his thin blue lips quivering slightly. 
“I feared that it had already passed beyond our reach, 
and that one day or other in the near future our policy 


i86 


WHOSO FINDEtH A WIFE. 


must be narrowed by the knowledge that it was preserved 
in the archives of the Foreign Office at St. Petersburg, 
and could be used as a pretense for a declaration of war 
by Russia and France. Now, however, that the original 
is again in our possession we can disclaim all copies, and 
give assurances that no secret understanding exists be- 
tween us and Berlin. The only fact that at present lends 
color to the assertion of the boulevard journals is the ill- 
timed bestowal of the Iron Cross upon Count Lands- 
feldt. Such an action was characteristic of their impet- 
uous Emperor.” Then, after a second’s reflection, he 
added, “J^st sit down, Deedes, and write to Sir Philip 
Emden at Berlin, asking him to obtain audience imme- 
diately of the Kaiser, point out the harmful impression 
this decoration has occasioned, and get His Majesty to 
exhibit his marked displeasure towards Landsfeldt in 
some form or other. That will remove any suspicion that 
the convention is actually an accomplished fact. Besides, 
you may hint also that it may be well for the relations 
between the Kaiser and Sir Philip to appear slightly 
strained, and that this fact should be communicated in- 
directly to the Press. Sit down and write at once: it 
must be sent under flying seal.” 

I obeyed, and commenced writing a formal dispatch 
while, in answer to the electric bell rung by his Lordship, 
the sleepy night-porter appeared. 

“Calvert,” exclaimed the Minister, “telephone to the 
Foreign Office and say that I want a messenger to call 
here and proceed to Berlin by the morning mail.” 

“Yes, m’lord,” answered the man, bowing and closing 
the door. 

While I wrote, the Earl perused the document, the loss 
of which had caused the Cabinets of Europe so much 
apprehension, and taking his magnifying glass he exam- 
ined the portions of the seal still remaining. Then care- 
fully unlocking one of the small private drawers in the 
top of the great writing-table, he took therefrom some 
object, and gazed upon it long and earnestly. With a 
heavy sigh he again replaced it, and slowly locked the 
drawer. When I had finished and placed the instructions 
to Sir Philip Emden before him, he took up his quill. 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. 187 

corrected my letter, here and there adding an emphatic 
word or two, and then appended his signature. Obtain- 
ing one of the oags used for the transmission of single 
dispatches, I d '^posited it therein, sealed it, and placed 
upon it one of those labels with a cross drawn upon its 
face, the signification of that mark being that it is never 
to be lost sight of by the messenger. There are two 
kinds of bags sent out and received by the Foreign Office, 
one with this cross-marked label, and the other without 
it. The latter are generally larger and less important, 
and may be placed with the messenger’s luggage. It is 
no pleasant life our messengers lead, liable as they are to 
be summoned at an hour’s notice to “proceed at once” to 
anywhere, from Brussels to Teheran. Armed with a 
laissez-passer, they are constantly hurrying over the face 
of Europe as fast as the fastest expresses can carry them, 
passing through the frontier stations freed from the 
troublesome concomitant of ordinary traveling — the ex- 
amination of luggage — known on all the great trunk 
lines from Paris to Constantinople and from Rome to 
St. Petersburg, sometimes bearing epoch-making docu- 
ments, sometimes a lady’s hat of latest mode, or a parcel 
of foreign delicacies, but always on the alert, and gen- 
erally sleeping on a layer of stiff dispatches and bulky 
“notes.” 

At last, having made up the bag, I rose slowly and 
faced my chief. 

“Well,” he exclaimed, raising his keen eyes from the 
document I had brought him and regarding me with that 
stony, sphinx-like expression he assumed when resolved 
upon cross-questioning, “how did you obtain possession 
of this?” 

“I found it,” I answered. 

“Found it?” he growled, with a cynical curl of the lip. 
“I suppose you have some lame story that you picked it 
up in the street, or something — eh?” he exclaimed test- 
ily. 

“No,” I replied hoarsely. “Mine is no lame story, al- 
though a wretched one. The discovery has unnerved 
and bewildered me; it — ” 

“I have no desire to know how its discovery affected 


l88 WHOSO FINDETH A WIF^L 

you mentally,” he interrupted, with impatient sarcasm. 
“I asked where you found it,” he observed coldly. 

“I found it in my own house,” I answered. 

‘‘Then you mean to tell me that it has been in your 
possession the whole time. The thing’s impossible,” he 
cried angrily. “Remember the dummy palmed off upon 
me, and the fact that an exact copy was transmitted to 
St. Petersburg.” 

“No. It has not been in my possession,” I answered, 
leaning against my writing-chair for support. “I found 
it among my wife’s letters.” 

“Your wife!” he gasped, agitated. He had turned 
ghastly pale at mention of her name, and, trembling with 
agitation, swayed forward. 

A moment later, however, he recovered his self-posses- 
sion, clutched at the corner of his table, and regarding 
me sharply, asked, “What do you suspect?” 

“I scarce know what to suspect,” I answered gravely, 
striving to remain calm, but remembering at that instant 
the curious effect produced upon the Foreign Minister 
when he had first seen Ella dancing at the Embassy ball. 
My declaration that I had found this official bond of na- 
tions in her possession had produced a similar disquiet- 
ing result which puzzled me. 

“But surely she can have had no hand in the affair,” 
he cried. “She certainly did not strike me as an adven- 
turess, or an agent of the Tzar’s secret service.” 

“It is a problem that I cannot solve,” I exclaimed 
slowly, watching the strange, haggard look upon his 
usually imperturbable features. “After leaving you this 
evening I went home only to find a letter of farewell from 
her, and — ” 

“She has fled, then!” he exclaimed, with quick sus- 
picion. 

“Yes. Her flight was evidently pre-arranged, and curi- 
ously enough her mother, who lives in Pont Street, has 
discharged her servants, disposed of a good deal of her 
property, and also departed.” 

“Gone together, no doubt,” the Earl observed, frown- 
ing reflectively. 

“But is it not very strange that she should have left the 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. 


189 


stolen convention behind? Surely if my wife were ac- 
tually a Russian agent she would never have been guilty 
of such indiscretion,” I said. 

‘The mystery is inexplicable, Deedes,” he declared, 
with a heavy look, half of pain, half of bewilderment. 
“Absolutely inexplicable.” 

This aged man, to whose firmness, clever statesman- 
ship, and calm foresight England owed her place as fore- 
most among the Powers, was trembling with an excite- 
ment he strove in vain to suppress. In manner that sur- 
prised me, his cold, cynical face relaxed, and placing his 
thin, bony hand upon my shoulder with fatherly tender- 
ness, Her Majesty’s most trusted Minister urged me to 
confide in him all my suspicions and my fears. 

“You have, I believe, after all, been cruelly wronged, 
Deedes,” he added in a low, harsh tone. “I sympathize 
with you because I myself once felt the loss of a wife 
deeply, and I know what feelings must be yours now that 
you suspect the woman you have trusted and loved to 
have been guilty of base treachery and espionage. She, 
or some one in association with her, has besmirched Eng- 
land’s honor, and brought us to the very verge of a ter- 
rible national disaster. Providentially, this was averted; 
by what means we have not yet ascertained, although our 
diplomatic agents at the Court of the Tzar are striving 
day and night to ascertain; yet the fact remains that we 
were victimized by some daring secret agent who sacri- 
ficed everything in order to accomplish the master-stroke 
of espionage. I can but re-echo the thanks to Heaven 
uttered by my gracious Sovereign when she received the 
news that war had been averted; nevertheless it is my 
duty — nay, it is yours, Deedes, to strive on without rest- 
ing, in order that this mystery may be satisfactorily un- 
raveled.” 

For a moment we were silent. Then in a voice that I 
felt painfully conscious was broken by grief and emotion, 
I related to him the whole of the wretched story of my 
marriage, my suspicions, the discovery of Ella in Ken- 
sington Gardens, how I had taxed her with flirtation and 
frivolity, our peace-making, and her sudden and unex- 
pected flight. 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


190 

He heard me through to the end with bent head, sigh- 
ing now and then sympathetically. Then he slowly 
asked, — 

‘‘Did you ever refer to those earlier incidents, such as 
the death of that young man Ogle? Remember, what- 
ever you tell me I shall regard as strictly confidential.” 

“I seldom mentioned it, as she desired me not to do 
so. 

“When you referred to it, what was her attitude?” he 
inquired, in a pained tone, the furrows on his high white 
brow deep and clearly defined. 

“She declared always that he had been murdered, and 
vowed to detect the author of the crime.” 

“Are you, in your own mind, convinced that there was 
anything really mysterious regarding her actions; or 
were they only every day facts distorted by jealousy?” he 
asked gravely. 

“There is, I believe, some deep mystery regarding her 
past,” I answered. 

He knit his gray, shaggy brows, and started percepti- 
bly. 

“Her past!-' he echoed. “Were you aware of any — 
er — unpleasant fact prior to marriage?” he inquired 
quickly. 

“Yes. She promised to explain everything ere long; 
therefore, loving her devotedly as I did, I resolved to 
make her my wife and await in patience her explanation.” 

“Love!” he cried cynically. “She did not love you. 
She only married you, it seems, to accomplish her own 
base and mysterious designs.” Then, pacing the room 
from end to end, he added, “The more I reflect, the more 
apparent does it become that Ella Laing meant, by be- 
coming your wife, to accomplish some great coup, but, 
prevented by some unforeseen circumstance, she has 
been compelled to fly, and in her haste overlooked this in- 
criminating paper.” 

This, too, was my own opinion, and taking from my 
pocket the whole of the letters that were in the escritoire, 
I placed them before him. 

“They are from your wife’s mysterious lover,” he ob- 
served, when a few moments later he had digested them. 


STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. 


191 

“Who he is there is no evidence to show. You suspect 
him, of course, to be the man she met in Kensington 
Gardens?” 

I nodded. A sigh escaped me. 

“Well,” he went on. “Leave them with me. A cali- 
graphic expert may possibly find some clue to the iden- 
tity of their writer.” 

Afterwards, he took up the broken envelope that had 
contained the treaty, carefully re-examining its edges by 
the aid of his large magnifying glass. 

“There is another curious fact that we must not over- 
look,” he observed slowly. “While the seal has been 
broken this envelope has also passed through a ‘cabinet 
noir.’ See, this edge bears unmistakable traces after 
wear in the pocket,” and he handed it to me, together 
with his glass. 

The suggestion was startling, and one that I had en- 
tirely overlooked. The “cabinet noir” is a term well un- 
derstood in diplomacy, but unfamiliar perhaps to the gen- 
eral public. Official documents of no great importance 
are often sent by post, and in most European countries 
this has led to the establishment of a “cabinet noir,” in 
which the envelope is opened and its contents examined. 
The mode of procedure is interesting. The letter to be 
opened is first shaken well in such a way that the en- 
closure falls to one side of the envelope, leaving a space 
of about a quarter of an inch between it and the outer 
edge. This edge is then placed under an extremely sharp 
knife worked like a guillotine, care being taken to put 
it carefully at right angles to the knife, which is then 
brought down and cuts off a slip about one hundredth 
part of an inch wide. The envelope is now open, and the 
enclosure is extracted by a pair of pincers made for the 
purpose. After examination it is replaced, and the tick- 
lish job of removing all trace of the opening has to be 
done. This is very ingenious. There are different pots 
of paper pulp mixed with a little gum, and each tinted a 
different color to suit the various shades of paper that 
are operated upon. A very fine camel-hair brush is 
dipped into the pot containing the proper tint, and is then 
run carefully along the edges which have been cut open. 


192 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


They are then closed and left under a press for an hour 
or so, and after being smoothed with a flat steel instru- 
ment, it would take a very clever expert to notice that the 
envelope has passed through the “cabinet noir.” 

I saw, however, in this worn envelope the two edges 
were coming apart, and at once admitted the truth of the 
Earl’s assertions. He was intensely shrewd; scarcely 
any minute detail escaped him. 

“Well,” he said reflectively, at last, “there is but one 
person from whom we may ascertain the truth.” 

“Who?” 

“Your wife.” 

“But she has disappeared.” 

“We must trace her. She must not escape us,” he 
cried fiercely, with set teeth. “She has wronged you and 
acted in collusion with a man who has betrayed his coun- 
try and met with a tragic end, even if she herself did not 
actually sell the copy of the secret convention to our ene- 
mies — which appears to me more than likely.” 

“What causes you to believe this?” I inquired, sur- 
prised at his sudden assertion. 

“I have a reason,” he answered quickly, with an air of 
mystery. The cold manner of the expert diplomatist had 
again settled upon him. “If it is as I expect, I will show 
her no mercy, for it is upon me, as Foreign Minister of 
Her Majesty, that opprobrium has fallen.” 

“But she is still my wife,” I observed, for even at that 
moment, when I had discovered her false and base, I had 
not ceased to regard her with a passionate affection. 

“Wife!” he snarled angrily. “You would have been a 
thousand times better dead than married to such as she.” 
Then he added, “Remain here. I am going to the tele- 
phone to apprise Scotland Yard of her flight. She only 
left to-night after the mails were gone, therefore if we 
have the ports watched we may yet find her.” 

And he left me, his quick footsteps, echoing down the 
long corridor. 

The moment he had gone I went to his table. Some 
sudden curiosity prompted me to endeavor to ascertain 
what he had been gazing upon so intently while my back 


THE MAN OF THE HOUR. 193 

had been turned in penning the instructions to Sir Philip 
Emden. 

Quickly I took his keys, and, unlocking the tiny 
drawer, opened it. 

Inside there reposed a highly-finished cabinet portrait 
of my wife. 

Amazed to find this picture in the possession of my 
chief, I took it in my hands and stood agape. Its pose 
was unfamiliar, but the reason I had never before seen a 
copy of it was instantly made plain. It bore the name of 
a well-known St. Petersburg photographer. 

Ella had lied to me when she had denied ever having 
been in Russia. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE MAN OF THE HOUR. 

Months of anxiety went wearily by, but no tidings of 
Ella could I glean. Time could never efface the bitter 
memories of the past. The police had, at Lord Warn- 
ham’s instigation, exerted every effort to trace her, but 
without avail. She had disappeared with a rapidity that 
was astounding, for, apparently expecting that some at- 
tempt might be made to follow her, she had ingeniously 
taken every precaution to baffle her pursuers in the same 
manner as her mother had done. The cause of her sud- 
den flight was an enigma only equaled by my discovery 
of her portrait in the Earl’s possession. Although I had 
several times in conversation led up to the subject of pho- 
tographs, and shown him Ella’s picture, that had been 
taken by a firm in Regent Street, the astute old states- 
man made no sign that he already had her counterfeit 
presentment hidden among his most treasured posses- 
sions. When I recollected, as I often did, how on gaz- 
ing upon it, while believing me engrossed in the writing 
of a dispatch, the sight of it had affected him, the new 
phase of the mystery perplexed me sorely. That they 
had been previously acquainted seemed more than prob- 
able, and his Lordship’s earnest desire to secure knowl- 
13 


194 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


edge of her whereabouts lent additional color to this opin- 
ion. 

Daily the aged statesman grew more gloomy and mis- 
anthropic. He lived alone, in an atmosphere of severe 
officialdom. His only recreation was a formal visit on 
rare occasions to a reception at one or other of the prin- 
cipal Embassies, or attendance on Her Majesty at Os- 
borne or Balmoral; his brief, far-seeing suggestions at the 
Cabinet Council were always adopted unanimously, and 
his peremptory “notes” to the Powers incontrovertible 
marvels of diplomacy. He hated society, and never went 
anywhere without some strong motive by which he could 
further his country’s interests. His eccentricities were 
proverbial, his caustic observations on men and things 
the delight of leader-writers on Government journals; 
and as director of England’s foreign policy he was feared, 
yet admired, in every capital in Europe. He, however, 
cared not a jot for notoriety, but with an utter disregard 
for all else, served his country with a slavish devotion, 
that even the most scathing Opposition gutter-journal 
could not fail to recognize. 

It was common talk that some strange, romantic inci- 
dent had overshadowed his life, but with that innate se- 
crecy that was part of his creed he never confided in any- 
body. Notwithstanding his frigid cynicism, however, he 
was nevertheless sympathetic, and at any mention of 
Ella’s name he would rivet his searching eyes upon me, 
while across the white brow, furrowed by the heavy re- 
sponsibilities of State through so many years, would 
spread an expression of regret, anxiety or pain. But he 
spoke seldom upon that subject. That he regarded my 
marriage as a deplorable fiasco I was well aware, but felt 
that in his cold heart, hardened as it was by the artful 
subterfuges of successful diplomacy, there yet remained 
a spark of pity, for he still regarded me as his protege. 

On the day after Ella had fled I called at Andrew Beck’s 
office at Winchester House, Old Broad Street, but found 
he had sailed a few days before by the Union Liner Scot 
for Cape Town. Of late he had become connected with 
several South African gold ventures of enormous extent, 
and in the interests of some of the companies most promi- 


THE MAN OF THE HOUR. 


195 


nently before the public, had undertaken the journey. 
His great wealth, in combination with that of his asso- 
ciates, had inspired public confidence, and there had com- 
menced that feverish tendency in the city that quickly de- 
veloped, and was later known as the ‘‘gold boom.” The 
movements of the popular member for West Rutland- 
shire were cabled and chronicled in the newspapers as 
diligently as if he were a prince of a reigning house, and 
it was with extreme satisfaction that one morning in June 
I saw it announced that the mail had arrived at South- 
ampton from the Cape bearing him on board, the same 
paper printing an account of an interview regarding gold 
prospects in South Africa which he had given its repre- 
sentative before he left the steamer. I was down at 
Warnham at the time, but three days later returned to 
London, and that same night sought Beck at the House 
of Commons. 

I found him in the Members’ Lobby, bustling about in 
his ill-fitting evening clothes and crumpled shirt-front, 
looking sun-tanned and well ; a trifle more arrogant, per- 
haps, but nevertheless easy-going and good-natured as 
usual. He greeted me heartily, and the night being 
warm we lit cigars and walked out upon the Terrace be- 
side the Thames. Big Ben was chiming the midnight 
hour. It was bright and star-lit above, but before us the 
river ran darkly beneath the arches of Westminster 
Bridge, its ripples glistening under the gas lamps. Across 
on the opposite bank, in the row of buildings comprising 
St. Thomas’ Hospital, lights glimmered faintly in the win- 
dows of the wards, while here and there on the face of the 
black, silent highway, lights, white, red and green, shone 
out in silent warning. 

As we set foot upon the long, deserted Terrace, stroll- 
ing slowly forward in the balmy, refreshing night air, my 
thoughts wandered back to the last occasion when we 
had spent an evening together beside the Thames, that 
memorable night at “The Nook,” when we had after- 
wards discovered Dudley Ogle lying dead. 

During the first half-hour we discussed the progress of 
several questions of foreign policy which had been pur- 
sued during his absence, and he, an enthusiast in politics. 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


196 

confided in me his intention to head a select circle of his 
party to demand a commission of inquiry into the work- 
ing of our mobilization scheme for home defense. 

“One would think that you desired to obtain further 
notoriety/’ I laughed. “Surely you are popular enough ; 
you are now the man of the hour.” 

“Well, I suppose I am,” he answered, a trifle proudly, 
halting suddenly, leaning with his back to the stone para- 
pet and puffing vigorously at his cigar. “But it isn’t for 
the sake of notoriety that I’m pressing forward this in- 
quiry. It is for the benefit of the country generally. The 
scheme for the mobilization of our forces in case of in- 
vasion is utterly rotten, and had we been compelled to 
fight a little time ago, when France and Russia were upon 
the point of declaring war, we should have been in a 
wretched plight. The scheme is all very well on paper, 
but I and my friends are determined to ascertain whether 
it will act. It has never been tested, and no doubt it is 
utterly unworkable. What, indeed, can be said of a 
scheme which decrees that in case of an enemy landing 
on our shores a regiment of cavalry, now in London, 
must draw its horses from Dublin ! Why, the thing’s 
absurd. We don’t mean to rest until the whole matter is 
thoroughly threshed out.” 

“You intend to worry up the War Office a little,” I ob- 
served, smiling. 

“Yes,” he answered, ostentatiously. “We intend to 
bring public opinion to bear so heavily upon them that 
they will be absolutely bound to submit to the inquiry. 
This is, however, a secret for the present. It is best that 
the newspapers should not get hold of it yet. You under- 
stand?” 

“Of course,” I said. 

We stood watching the dark, swirling waters and en- 
joying the cool night breeze that swept along the river, 
causing the lamps to flicker, when he suddenly asked — , 

“How is Ella? I quite forgot to ask after your wife.” 

“I don’t know,” I replied, after a brief pause. 

“Don’t know?” he echoed, looking at me, puzzled. 
“Why, what’s the matter?” 

“She has left me,” I answered gravely. 


THE MAN OF THE HOUR. 197 

‘Xeft you!” he cried, removing his cigar and staring at 
me. “Have you quarreled?” 

“No. On my return home one night in January I 
found a note of farewell from her. I have heard nothing 
of her since. Mrs. Laing disappeared on the same day.” 

“Disappeared!” he gasped. My announcement had 
caused him the greatest consternation, for he stood 
agape. “Have you no idea of the reason?” 

“None whatever,” I replied. Then confidentially I 
told him of Ella’s mysterious absences, her walk in Ken- 
sington Gardens, and her letters from the unknown indi- 
vidual who had met her so frequently, omitting, however, 
all mention either of the theft or recovery of the secret 
convention, for it was Lord Warnham’s wish that I 
should keep the existence of that instrument a profound 
secret. 

“Have you no idea who this strange fellow is?” he in- 
quired, sympathetically. 

“Not the slightest,” I said. 

“Ella was not addicted to flirtation,” he observed re- 
flectively, a few moments later. “As you are aware, I 
have been acquainted with the family for some years, and 
have known your wife ever since she could toddle.” 

“Tell me of them,” I urged impatiently. “I know 
scarcely anything beyond what Ella and her mother have 
told me. What do you know of Ella’s past?” 

“You speak as if you suspected her to be an adventur- 
ess,” he said, and as the lamplight fell upon his face I 
saw that his lips relaxed into a good-humored smile. “As 
far as I’m aware there is no incident of her life prior to 
marriage that will not bear the fullest investigation; and 
as for her mother, no more straightforward Jior upright 
woman ever lived. Before poor Robert Laing died I was 
a frequent visitor at their country house, so I had ample 
opportunity of noticing what an affectionate family they 
were; and after his death it was I who succeeded in turn- 
ing his great business into a limited liability concern.” 

To outsiders Beck was a swaggering parvenu, who 
delighted in exhibiting his wealth to others by giving 
expensive dinners and indulging in extravagances of 
speech and beverage; but towards me he had always been 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


198 

honestly outspoken and unassuming — in fact, a typical 
successful business man, with whose unruffled good 
humor I had, even when madly jealous of his attentions 
to Ella, found it impossible to quarrel. I had long ago 
grown to ridicule the suggestion that any secret had ex- 
isted between them, and now felt instinctively that he was 
my friend. 

“Do you think — ” I asked him, after a long pause. 
“Candidly speaking, have you any suspicion that Dudley 
Ogle was her lover 

He knit his brows. For an instant a hard expression 
played about his mouth, and he drew a long breath. 

“I didn% of course, know so much of Dudley as you 
did,” he answered, slowly contemplating the end of his 
cigar. “But to tell you the honest truth, I always sus- 
pected that he loved her. In fact her own evidence at 
the inquest was sufficient proof of that.” 

“His death was an enigma,” I observed. 

“Entirely so,” he acquiesced, sighing. 

“She alleged that he had been murdered, and there is 
no room for doubt that she entertained certain very grave 
suspicions.” 

“Of what?” 

“Of the identity of the murderer,” I said. “She de- 
clared to me, times without number, that she would never 
rest until she had unraveled the mystery.” 

“Her theory was a very wild one,” he laughed. “Per- 
sonally, I do not entertain it for one moment. The medi- 
cal opinion that he died from a sudden but natural cause 
is undoubtedly correct,” he said, replacing his dead cigar 
between his lips, as, slowly striking a vesta, he re-lit it. 
Then he added, “Her anxiety to avenge Dudley’s death 
certainly seems to bear out your suspicion that they were 
lovers.” 

“Then you entirely agree with me?” I cried. 

“In a measure only,” he answered, his voice suddenly 
harsh and cold. “I have no suspicion that she ever recip- 
rocated his affection, although in seeking to learn the 
truth of your friend’s tragic end she must have had some 
very strong motive.” 

“Another fact I also discovered was a trifle curious,” I 


THE MAN OF THE HOUR. 


199 


observed, after we had strolled along the deserted Ter- 
race from end to end, discussing the details of Dudley’s 
death, and the manner m which it had affected her. 

“What was it?” he inquired, glancing towards me. 

“I found that she was in the habit of visiting every day 
a pretty Russian girl with whom I was acquainted.” 

“Before marriage?” he asked, raising his eyebrows 
meaningly. 

“Yes,” I answered. “She was a refugee, and I had 
been enabled to render her father a service some time be- 
fore; therefore we had become friends. I had lost sight 
of her for a long time, and when I again met her I dis- 
covered that she had not only been an intimate friend of 
poor Dudley, but that Ella visited her frequently on her 
bicycle when she was supposed by her mother to be riding 
in the Park.” 

“Was there anything remarkable in that fact?” he in- 
quired, with a half-amused air, nevertheless regarding me 
with undue keenness, I thought. 

“Nothing, except that the little Russian, who, having 
lost her father, was living a lonely life in a rather large 
house in Kensington, warned me against Ella, telling me 
she was my enemy. She, however, left without fulfilling 
her promise to reveal the details.” 

“Your enemy 1” he cried, laughing jocosely. “She was 
evidently jealous of your attentions to her, my boy. A 
Russian, too! She was a Nihilist, I suppose, or some in- 
terestingly romantic person of that sort, eh? Surely you 
didn’t heed what she said, did you?” 

“Of course not,” I replied, with a forced laugh. “I 
loved Ella too well ; so I married her.” 

“And you now regret it,” he added abruptly. 

Without replying I walked on by his side, smoking 
furiously. My object in seeking him had been to learn 
what I could of Ella’s past, but no mysterious incident, 
had, to his knowledge, occurred. Her family were well 
known in Yorkshire, respected throughout the county, 
and no breath of scandal had ever besmirched the fair 
fame of either Robert Laing’s widow or his daughter. 
Beck, their intimate friend, concealed nothing from me, 
but frankly discussed my hopes and fears, expressing his 


200 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


heartfelt sympathy that I should have thus mysteriously 
lost my well-beloved, and offering me all the assistance 
that lay in his power. 

“It certainly is extremely curious that Mrs. Laing 
should have left Pont Street without sending me a letter 
to the club, giving me her new address,” he said calmly, 
after reflection. 

“You have not, then, heard from her?” 

“No, I have had no letter. A week before I left for 
South Africa I dined there, and she then told me that she 
intended to remain in England throughout the year. She 
expressed the greatest gratification that Ella had mar- 
ried so happily, and seemed in the best of spirits. Yet a 
few days later, it appears, she fled as secretly as if she had 
been a criminal. It is really very extraordinary; I can’t 
account for it in the least.” 

“All effort to trace Ella has failed,” I observed gloom- 
ily, after a moment’s reflection. 

“Whose aid have you sought? A private inquiry 
agent?” 

“No. The police,” I answered. 

“Police!” he exclaimed, surprised. “They have com- 
mitted no crime, surely. I — I mean that the police do 
not trace missing friends.” 

“They will carry out the orders of any Government 
Department,” I answered. “The request came from my 
chief.” 

“From Lord Warnham! Then you have told him!” 

“Of course,” I responded. 

In contemplative silence he slowly blew a great cloud 
of smoke from his lips. Then he said, “There is one 
thing you haven’t told me, Geoffrey. What was the 
name of this pretty Russian who made these mysterious 
allegations against Ella?” 

“Her name was Sonia Korolenko.” 

“Sonia Korolenko!” he cried in a voice strangely 
hoarse, halting and glaring at me with wide-open, staring 
eyes. “Sonia! And she has gone, you say?” 

“Yes. She has returned to Russia, I believe. But 
what do you know of her?” I quickly inquired. 

“Nothing. I merely know her by repute as a no- 


A MISSION AND ITS SEQUEL. 201 

torious woman, that’s all,” he answered. “You were 
certainly wise to discard her allegations.” 

‘Ts she such a well-known person?” I asked. 

“I should rather think so,” he answered, elevating his 
eyebrows. “Her fame has spread all over the Continent. 
She was leader of a certain circle of questionable society 
in Vienna a year ago, and narrowly escaped falling into 
the hands of the police.” 

“But what can have induced Ella to associate with 
her?” I exclaimed in wonderment. 

“Ah ! That is more than we can tell,” he answered, in 
a tone of sincere regret. “The ways of women of her 
type are ofttimes utterly incomprehensible.” 

“Were you aware that Ella was acquainted with her?” 
I inquired earnestly. 

At that moment, however, the electric gongs along the 
Terrace commenced ringing sharply, announcing that the 
House was about to divide. The division was upon an 
important amendment, and had been expected at any 
moment since the dinner-hour. Turning back quickly 
he hurried through the tea-room along the corridor, and 
shaking hands with me in haste, promising to resume our 
conversation on another occasion, disappeared to record 
his vote. 

For a single instant I stood alone in the Lobby, watch- 
ing the receding figure of the portly man of the hour, and 
pondering deeply. Then, full of gloomy recollections of 
the past, I turned on my heel and went out through the 
long, echoing hall. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

A MISSION AND ITS SEQUEL. 

“You fully understand the position, Deedes?” 

“Absolutely,” I replied. 

“Well, this is your first mission abroad — a secret one 
and most important — so do your best, and let me see how 
you shape towards being a diplomatist. Remember you 
have one main object to bear in mind, as I have already 


202 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


told you; and further, that the strictest secrecy is abso- 
lutely necessary.” 

It was the Earl of Warnham who thus spoke gravely 
as we stood opposite one another in the private room of 
the Minister in attendance at Osborne. Between us was 
a large table littered with state documents, each of which 
Her Majesty had carefully investigated before appending 
her firm, well-written signature. Late on the previous 
night I had traveled to the Isle of Wight in response to 
a telegram summoning me and my chief, who, after three 
rather protracted audiences of Her Majesty during the 
morning, had instructed me to proceed at once to Paris, 
entrusting me with a secret mission. Lord Gaysford, the 
Under Secretary, would undoubtedly have gone, but as he 
was away in Scotland attending some election meetings, 
and as time was pressing, I had, much to my gratification, 
been chosen. My mission was a rather curious one, not 
unconnected with Her Majesty’s personal affairs, and the 
instructions I had to deliver to the Marquis of Worthorpe, 
our Ambassador to the French Republic, were of such a 
delicate nature that if written in a formal dispatch would, 
the Earl feared, cause that skilled and highly-valued dip- 
lomatist to send in his resignation. 

I had therefore been chosen to put a suggestion 
politely to his Excellency, and at the same time deliver 
the Earl’s instructions with deference, yet so firmly that 
they could not be disregarded. Mine was certainly a dif- 
ficult task, nevertheless in my enthusiasm at being 
chosen to execute this secret mission abroad I was pre- 
pared to attempt anything, from the settlement of the 
Egyptian Question to the formation of a Quadruple Alli- 
ance. 

“I shall carry out your instructions to the best of my 
ability,” I assured him, after he had given me various 
valuable hints how to act. 

“Yes,” the aged Minister said, slowly gathering the 
tails of his black broadcloth frock-coat over his arms and 
thrusting his hands into his pockets, “cross from New- 
haven to-night, and you can see Worthorpe at noon to- 
morrow. Tell him to give you an interview alone; then 


A MISSION AND ITS SEQUEL. 


203 

explain what I have told you. He must obtain an audi- 
ence of the President some time to-morrow.” 

“I shall act as discreetly as possible/’ I declared. 

'T feel sure you will, Deedes,” he exclaimed, with a look 
more kindly than usual. “This mission will, I hope, lead 
to others, further afield, perhaps. But remember that 
you were once victimized by a spy; therefore exercise the 
greatest care and caution in this and all matters.” 

“I certainly shall,” I answered, smiling; then, after the 
further discussion of a point upon which I was not per- 
fectly clear, I wished my chief adieu. 

As I passed out of the room he said, — 

“Put up at the Continental. If I have any further in- 
structions, I’ll wire in cipher.” 

“Very well,” I replied, and as I went forth I met on the 
threshold a servant in the royal livery who had come to 
summon the trusted Minister to another audience with 
his Sovereign. 

Eager to fulfill my mission to the satisfaction of the ec- 
centric old statesman, who if to others was a martinet was 
to me a firm and sympathetic friend, I at once set out, 
crossed to Dieppe that night, and duly arrived in Paris 
next day. Shortly before noon I presented myself at the 
handsome official residence of the British Ambassador, 
and was quickly ushered into his presence. We were 
not strangers, having met on several occasions when he 
visited London and called to consult the chief ; therefore 
he welcomed me cordially when I entered his private 
room. The Marquis was a tall, brown-bearded, pleasant- 
faced man, who had graduated in the Constantinople and 
Vienna schools of diplomacy before being appointed Am- 
bassador in Paris, and who had achieved considerable 
reputation as a skilled negotiator of the most delicate 
points. 

Seated opposite one another in softly-padded arm- 
chairs, we chatted affably for perhaps a quarter of an hour. 
First, he inquired after our chief’s health, and then en- 
deavored to ascertain from me the policy about to be pur- 
sued towards Russia in view of our recent strained rela- 
tions, but I strenuously avoided answering any of his art- 
fully-concealed questions. A dozen times, with that con- 


204 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


summate tact acquired by a lifetime of diplomacy, he en- 
deavored to get me to hazard an opinion or express a 
doubt, but I always refused. Lord Warnham’s instruc- 
tions were that I should say nothing of those affairs of 
State which, in my capacity of private secretary, were 
well known to me, hence my determination to maintain 
silence. 

Presently the Marquis smilingly exclaimed, ‘‘Lord 
Warnham has evidently taught you the first requisite of 
the successful diplomatist — namely, secrecy. You’ve 
borne well the test I have applied, Deedes. By the same 
questions I have just put to you I could have learnt just 
what I wanted from half the diplomatic circle here in 
Paris, yet you have fenced with me admirably. I shall 
not omit to mention the fact to Lord Warnham when 
next I call at the Foreign Office. 

I thanked his Excellency, adding, with a smile, “One 
learns the value of silence with our chief.” 

“Yes,” he answered, slowly tapping his table with a 
quill. “He’s a curious man, extremely curious. His 
very eccentricity causes him to be feared by every Cabinet 
in Europe. Is he really as impetuous and strange in pri- 
vate life as he is in public?” 

I paused, looking fixedly into my companion’s dark 
eyes. 

“The object of my visit, your Excellency, is not to dis- 
cuss the merits of my chief or the policy of the Home 
Government, but to make a suggestion which he has de- 
sired me to place before you with all deference to your 
wide experience as Ambassador, and your unequalled 
knowledge of the French people,” I said gravely, and 
then, clearly and succinctly, I placed before him the 
Earl’s ideas, together with the instructions he had en- 
trusted me to deliver. 

At first the Ambassador, resenting my interference with 
his actions, seemed disinclined to entertain the sugges- 
tions; but using the arguments my chief had advanced, I 
at length induced him to view the matter from the same 
standpoint. I even obtained from him what was practi- 
cally an admission that the policy he had pursued in the 
past regarding the question under discussion was not al- 


A MISSION AND ITS SEQUEL. 


205 


together sound, and once having obtained that, I felt 
confident of gaining my point without any unpleasant in- 
cident. From that moment, indeed, he recognized that 
I bore a message from the chief, therefore he treated me 
pleasantly, and announced his intention of seeking an 
audience with the President of the Republic at the Elysee 
at four o’clock, to enter upon negotiations which Her 
Majesty earnestly desired should be carried forward with- 
out delay. 

Although the Marquis treated me with calm, unruffled 
dignity, as befitted the Ambassador of the greatest nation 
on earth, I nevertheless congratulated myself that my 
efforts had been eminently successful. Aided by the 
promptings of the shrewd old Earl, I had, I flattered my- 
self, exercised a careful and even delicate tact in dealing 
with this leader among diplomatists, and, as may be 
imagined, the knowledge that my mission was successful 
caused me the utmost satisfaction. 

When I had first approached the subject he had been 
inclined to disregard my words, and grew so angry that I 
feared lest he might tender his resignation, as the Earl 
had apprehended. But the Minister’s clever arguments, 
rather than my own tact, convinced him, for he saw that 
to act at once was imperative; hence the success of my 
first secret mission. 

We sat together for nearly an hour calmly discussing 
the matter from various standpoints, and when we rose 
his Excellency again congratulated me upon the sound- 
ness of my views, laughingly declaring that, instead of 
penning the Earl’s impatient and irritating dispatches, he 
ought to appoint me to a post abroad. 

Full of elation, I descended the broad stairs, so thickly 
carpeted that my feet fell noiselessly, and met unexpect- 
edly, a few moments later, my friend Captain Cargill, of 
the 2d Life Guards, the junior Military Attache, who 
greeted me with a hearty British hand-grip. 

“Didn’t expect to meet you here, old chap,” he cried. 
“I thought you were tied up in the chief’s private room 
always, and never allowed out of England.” 

“This is the first time Fve been here officially,” I re- 
plied, laughing. 


2o6 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


What’s the trouble? Anything startling?” he inquired. 

"‘No, nothing very extraordinary,” I remarked, care- 
lessly. “I’ve seen the Marquis, and concluded my mis- 
sion.” 

Continuing, I extracted from him a promise to dine 
with me at the Continental that evening, as I intended to 
leave next day, and after a brief conversation we parted. 
Along the shady side of the Rue du Faubourg St. Hon- 
ore I strolled leisurely, turning into the Rue Royale, pass- 
ing the gloomy facade of the Madeleine, and continuing 
along the boulevard to the Grand Cafe. Paris possessed 
but little attraction for me in my gloomy frame of mind. 
Five years of my youth had been spent there, and I knew 
the city in every mood, but to-day, plunged as I was in a 
debauch of melancholy, its gay aspect under the warm 
sunshine jarred upon me. 

On leaving the Embassy it had occurred to me to call 
upon an old friend, who, in my student days, had shared 
rooms with me, ’but who had been returned as Deputy at 
the last election, and now lived in the Rue des Petits- 
Champs. With that object I had walked along mechani- 
cally, and instead of turning down the Rue des Capu- 
cines, as I should have done, I had found myself in the 
Place de I’Opera. Then, seating ^myself at one of the 
tables in front of the Grand Cafe, I ordered a “bock,” 
and contemplatively watched the crowd of passers-by. 

When last I had sat at that spot it was with Ella, on 
the night before we had returned to London from our 
honeymoon. Well I remembered how happy and con- 
tent she had then been; how she had enjoyed the light, 
cosmopolitan chatter about her, and how fondly we had 
loved each other. In those days she had mingled tender 
words with her kisses, which seemed to bear my soul 
away. Yet how weary and full ,oi terrible anxiety had 
been the nine months that had elapsed since that delight- 
ful autumn night, the last of our lazy tour through rural 
France. When I reflected upon all the remarkable oc- 
currences, they seemed like some hideous nightmare, 
while she herself appeared striking, yet mysterious, as the 
fair vision in some half-remembered dream. 

Thus was I sitting alone at the little marble-topped 


A MISSION AND ITS SEQUEL. 


207 


table, gazing into space, wondering, as I did daily, how 
my lost wife fared, and whether she ever gave a single 
passing thought to the man who, notwithstanding all 
her faults and follies, loved her better than his life, when 
before my eyes there arose for a second a face that in an 
instant was familiar. 

A man, short of stature and well dressed, had lounged 
leisurely by with a cigarette, but scarcely had he walked 
a dozen yards beyond the cafe when I jumped up, and 
rushing along, accosted him. 

It was Ivan Renouf. 

He turned sharply at mention of his name, regarding 
me with an inquiring glance, but next second expressed 
pleasure at our meeting. Together we returned to the 
cafe, and chatted amicably over a mazagran. Presently, 
after we had been speaking of our last interview at Mrs. 
Laing’s, I asked him the truth about his sudden dismissal 
from her service. 

“What your wife told you was quite correct,’" he an- 
swered, with a mysterious smile; “I was detected.” 

“You are generally too wary to be caught by those 
upon whom you are keeping observation,” I remarked. 

Slowly he selected a fresh cigarette, and laughing care- 
lessly, answered, — 

“It was not by accident but by design that I was 
caught. My object was already attained, and I desired to 
be discharged at once from madame’s service.” 

“She left London almost immediately,” I said. 

“Yes, I am quite aware of that. It was best for her,” 
he observed, rather abruptly. 

“My wife also fled on the same day,” I exclaimed 
slowly. “I haven’t seen her since.” 

At this announcement he betrayed no surprise, but 
merely remarked, “So I have heard.” 

“Tell me,” I urged earnestly, “do you know anything 
of her movements? I am endeavoring to find her, and 
am in utter despair.” 

With a sharp glance at me, the great detective stirred 
his long glass, raised it to his lips, and took a deep 
draught. Then, slowly replacing it upon the table, he 
coldly answered, — 


208 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


^‘1 know nothing of your wife’s whereabouts, m’sieur.” 

‘'Am I to understand that you refuse to tell me any- 
thing?” I asked, annoyed. 

He shrugged his shoulders, but answered no word. I 
detested him instinctively. 

“Is it not strange that they should both have fled in this 
extraordinary manner?” I suggested. “Can you assign 
any motive whatever for their flight?” 

“I am really not good at conundrums,” he replied in- 
differently. “But if you took my advice, m’sieur, you 
would abandon all thought of her, for at least one fact was 
quite plain, namely, that mademoiselle never loved you.” 

“How do you know that?” I cried, with sinking heart, 
as the ghastly truth was forced upon me for the thou- 
sandth time. 

“From my own observations,” he answered, looking 
straight at me across the table. “Your marriage was, 
I am fully aware, an unhappy one; therefore you should 
regard it entirely as of the past. She will never trouble 
you again, I can assure you.” 

“Why?” I demanded. “Your words indicate that you 
are fully aware of the true facts. Tell me all, Renouf, and 
set my mind at rest.” 

“I have told you all, m’sieur,” he said, suddenly tossing 
his cigarette away, glancing at his watch and rising. 
“That is, I have told you all that I may. But I have an 
appointment,” he added abruptly. “Adieu.” 

And before I could prevent him he had raised his hat 
with a show of politeness, and walked hurriedly off across 
the broad Place in the direction of the Boulevard des 
Italiens. 

In chagrin I bit my lip, for instead of giving me any 
clue to the hiding-place of my errant wife, his words only 
tended to increase my mistrust and despair. Was not, 
however, his refusal only what I might have expected? I 
rose and slowly walked away down the Rue Auber, deeply 
reflecting upon his denunciation of Ella’s faithlessness. 
What motive could he have, I wondered, in thus declar- 
ing that she had never loved me? 

That night Cargill dined with me, and after taking our 
coffee and liquors in the courtyard of the Continental, 


COSMOPOLITANS. 


209 


watching the well-dressed crowd of idlers who assemble 
there nightly after dinner, we strolled out along the 
brightly-lit streets, where all Paris was enjoying the cool, 
star-lit evening after the heat and burden of the day. 

Our footsteps led us unconsciously to that Mecca of the 
Briton or American resident in Paris, the Hotel Chat- 
ham, and entering the American bar we found assembled 
there a number of mutual acquaintances. At one of 
the small wooden tables sat my old and valued friend, 
Henry Allender, counsel to the United States Embassy 
in Paris, a man universally liked in both British and 
American colonies of the French capital, and opposite 
him a short, stout, round-faced Frenchman, attired in 
gray, and wearing the Legion of Honor in his lapel — M. 
Goron, the well-known Chief of Police. From both I 
received a cordial welcome, and as we sat down to chat 
over cocktails carefully mixed by the deft, loquacious 
bar-tender. Tommy, I took up Le Monde Illustre, lying 
upon the table, and opened it carelessly. 

Several pages I had turned over, when suddenly my 
eyes fell upon a full-page illustration of a beautiful wo- 
man in evening dress, with a fine diamond tiara upon her 
head. The features were unmistakable. With an in- 
voluntary cry that startled my companions, I sat rigid and 
motionless, glaring at it in abject dismay. 

The portrait itself did not surprise me so much as the 
amazing words printed beneath. The latter held me 
spell-bound. 


CHAPTER XXVH. 

COSMOPOLITANS. 

'Why, what’s the matter, old chap?” inquired Cargill, 
bending forward quickly to glance at the journal. “You 
look as if you’ve got an acute attack of the jim-jams.” 

“See!” I gasped hoarsely, pointing to the printed page 
upon which my strained eyes had riveted themselves. 

“Deucedly pretty woman,” declared the attache, who 

14 


210 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


was nothing if not a ladies’ man. Few men were better 
known in Paris than Hugh Cargill. 

“Yes, yes, I know,” I exclaimed impatiently. I was 
sitting dumbfounded, the words beneath the picture danc- 
ing before my vision in letters of fire. 

The portrait that seemed to smile mockingly at me was 
a reproduction of a photograph of Ella. The handsome, 
regular features were unmistakable. With the exception 
of the magnificent tiara, the ornaments she wore I recog- 
nized as belonging to her. All were now in my posses- 
sion, alas ! for on leaving me she had discarded them, and 
with ineffable sadness I had locked them away in a small 
cabinet. The jewel-case containing her wedding-ring 
was a veritable skeleton in my cupboard that I dare not 
gaze upon. 

The picture was undoubtedly that of my lost wife, yet 
beneath was printed in French the words, — 

“Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Elizaveta 
Nicolayevna of Russia.” 

“Look!” I cried, my eye still upon the page. “Surely 
there’s some mistake! That can’t be the Grand Duchess!” 

Allender and Cargill bent simultaneously over the little 
table, and both declared that there was no mistake. 

“She’s very well known here,” exclaimed the attache. 
“I’ve seen her driving her Orloff ponies in the Bois doz- 
ens of times. Beside, one never forgets such a face as 
hers.” 

“Does she live here?” I inquired breathlessly. 

“Sometimes,” he answered ; and smiling behind the veil 
of tobacco smoke, he added, “She’s been away a long 
time now. I suppose you want an introduction to her — 
eh?^ Well, I don’t expect you’ll be successful, as her cir- 
cle is the most select in Paris. She never invites any of 
the 'corps diplomatique.’ ” 

“No,” I answered huskily, “I desire no introduction.” 
A sudden giddiness had seized me. The jingle of glasses, 
the incessant chatter, the loud laughter, and the heavy 
smoke of cigars had combined with this sudden and be- 
wildering discovery to produce a slight faintness. I took 
up a glass of ice-water at my elbow and gulped it down. 

“Do you know her?” inquired Allender, with a pro- 


COSMOPOLITANS. 


2II 


nounced American accent, at the same time regarding me 
curiously. 

‘‘Yes,” I answered, not without hesitation. “She is 
— I mean we have already met.” 

“Well, you’re to be congratulated,” he answered, smil- 
ing. “I reckon she’s the finest looking woman in Paris, 
and that’s a solid fact.” 

Without replying I slowly turned over the page, and 
there saw a brief article with the same heading as the 
legend beneath the portrait. Cargill and Allender were 
attracted at that moment by the entry of one of their 
friends, a wealthy young man who, with his wife, had for- 
saken Ohio for residence in the French capital, and while 
they chatted I eagerly scanned the article, which ran as 
follows : — 

“Paris will welcome the return of Her Imperial High- 
ness the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Nicolayevna of Rus- 
sia, whose portrait we give on another page. For nearly 
nine months her great house in the Avenue des Champs 
Elysees, the scene of so many brilliant fetes during her 
last residence there, has been closed, but she arrived in 
Paris about ten days ago, and has announced her inten- 
tion of remaining among us until the end of the year. As 
our readers are no doubt aware. Her Imperial Highness, 
niece of the late Tzar Alexander, and cousin of the pres- 
ent Czar, is an excellent linguist, speaking English and 
French perfectly, in addition to her native Russian. She 
was born at Tzarskoie-Selo, but her early days were spent 
in England. She, however, prefers Paris to either Lon- 
don or St. Petersburg, although in the latter city her en- 
tertainments at the mansion on the English Quay are on a 
scale almost as brilliant as those at the Winter Palace 
itself. Her beauty is incomparable, and her diamonds 
among the finest in Europe. Her munificence to the 
poor of Paris is well-known. Although moving in the 
highest circle, she does not fear to go herself into the very 
vilest slums, accompanied by her trusty Muscovite man- 
servant, and there distribute relief to the deserving from 
her own purse. Both the needy and the wealthy there- 
fore welcome her on her return.” 


212 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


I re-read the article. Then I sat with the paper before 
me, staring at it in blank bewilderment. The suprising 
discovery held me petrified. This beautiful woman, who 
had masqueraded as Ella Laing, and had become my wife 
by law, was actually the daughter of a reigning house, the 
cousin of an Emperor. 

The astounding news seemed incredible. 

“Well,” asked Cargill, turning to me with a smile a 
moment later, “have you been reading all about her?” 

“Yes,” I answered, drawing a long breath. 

“Come, don’t sigh like that, old fellow,” he cried, and 
glancing across to the bar, shouted, “Mix another dry 
Martini, Tommy, for my friend.” 

To affect indifference I strove vainly. Nevertheless, I 
listened with eager ears as my three companions com- 
menced discussing the merits of the high-born woman 
who was my wife. To me she was no longer Ella. Her 
personality, so vivid and distinct, seemed in those mo- 
ments of perplexity to fade like the memory of some half- 
remembered dream. 

“Her beauty is simply marvelous,” Allender acknowl- 
edged, smoking on in his dry, matter-of-fact way. He 
was not more than thirty-eight, but by sheer merit as a 
sound lawyer and a thorough good fellow, he had risen to 
the lucrative post he held, and had, in the course of five 
years, formed a large and valuable practice and a wide 
circle of friends among the English-speaking colonies in 
the French capital. 

“I entirely agree with m’sieur,” observed M. Goron, in 
his broken English. “Her Highness is very beautiful, 
but, ah — cold as an icicle.” 

“Is there no scandal regarding her?” I inquired eager- 
ly, well knowing that in Paris no woman is considered 
really chic without some story being whispered about her. 

“None,” replied the renowned investigator of Anar- 
chist conspiracies. “I have the pleasure of knowing Her 
Highness, and I haye always found her a most estimable 
young lady. There is, however,” he added, “some curi- 
ous romance, I believe, connected with her earlier life.” 

^“A romance!” cried Cargill. “Do tell us all about it.” 

“Ah, unfortunately I do not know the details,” answered 


COSMOPOLITANS. 


213 


the old Frenchman, suddenly exhibiting his palms. 'Tt 
was alleged once by somebody I met officially — who it 
was, I really forget. She lived for years in England, and 
is a cosmopolitan thoroughly, besides being one of the 
richest women in Paris.” 

“Is it true that she sometimes goes into the low quarters 
of the city and gives money to the poor?” I asked him, 
for this love of midnight adventure accounted for Ella’s 
strange penchant for rambling alone at night that had 
once caused me so much perturbation. 

“Certainly. With her, philanthropy is a fad. I ac- 
companied her on several occasions last year,” he replied. 
“She attired herself in an old, worn-out dress of one of 
her maids and disguised herself most effectually. On 
each night she distributed about five thousand francs 
with her own hands. Indeed, so well-known is she in 
certain quarters that I believe she might go there alone 
with perfect safety. However, when she is going we 
always know at the Prefecture, and take precautions. It 
would not do for us to allow anything to happen to an 
Imperial Plighness,” he added. 

“Of course not,” observed Cargill, adding with the 
diplomatic instinct, “Of course. Not in view of the 
Franco-Russian Alliance,” an observation at which we all 
three laughed merrily. 

“Has she a lover?” inquired Allender, turning to M. 
Goron. 

“I think not,” the other replied. “I never heard of 
one. Indeed, I have never heard her accused of flirta- 
tion with anybody.” 

“Tell me,"m’sieur,” I asked, “are you acquainted with 
a Russian named Ivan Renouf, who is, I believe, in the 
secret service.” 

“Renouf!” he repeated, glancing quickly at me with 
his steel-blue eyes. “Yes, I have met him. He is in 
Paris at the present moment. Whether he is in the 
actual service of the Tzar’s Government I don’t know, 
but one thing is certain, namely, that he is a blackmailer 
and a scoundrel,” he added frankly. 

“What offense has he committed?” I asked, eager to 
learn some fact to his detriment. 


214 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


"‘He keeps well within the bounds of the law,” my 
companion answered. “Nevertheless he is utterly un- 
scrupulous and most ingenious in his methods. He is 
reported to be chief of the section of Secret Police at- 
tached to the Russian Embassy, but they are a mysterious 
lot of spies, always coming and going. Sent here from 
St. Petersburg, they remain a few months, watching the 
revolutionary refugees, and then go back, their places 
being taken by a fresh batch.” 

“Why is Renouf in Paris? Have you any idea?” 

“None, ni’sieur,” M. Goron answered. “He has been 
absent fully six months, and only last night I met him 
coming out of La Scala.” 

“Did you speak?” 

“Yes. He did not, however, recognize me,” smiled 
the Chief of Police. “I did not expect he would, as I 
chanced to be acting as a cabman, and was sitting upon 
my box outside the theater. He hailed me, but I re- 
fused to drive him. I was waiting for a fare who was 
enjoying himself inside, and who, on coming out, I had 
the pleasure of driving straight to the Prefecture,” added 
the man of a thousand disguises with a chuckle, swal- 
lowing his cocktail in one gulp. 

“Where does the Grand Duchess live?” I inquired, after 
a slight pause. 

“Deedes is simply gone on her,” cried Cargill, with 
good-humored banter. “He evidently wants to take her 
out to dinner.” 

“No,” I protested, smiling grimly. “Nothing of the 
kind. I only want to know whereabouts in the Avenue 
des Champes Elysees she lives.” 

“It is a large white house, with green jalousies, on the 
left-hand side, just beyond the Avenue de FAlma,” ex- 
plained the Chief of Police, laughing at Cargill’s sug- 
gestion. 

“But how did you become acquainted with her?” in- 
quired the attache, presently, after my companions had 
been praising her face and extolling her virtues. 

“We met in London,” I answered vaguely, for I was in 
no confidential mood. 

“And she captivated you, eh?” my friend exclaimed. 


COSMOPOLITANS. 215 

‘‘Well, I’m not surprised. Half Paris goes mad over her 
beauty whenever she’s here.” 

“It is said, and I believe there’s a good deal of truth in 
it,” exclaimed Goron, confidentially, “that young Max 
Duchanel, the well-known writer on the Figaro, com- 
mitted suicide last year by shooting himself over at Le 
Pre St. Gervais because she disregarded his attentions. 
At any rate an extravagant letter of reproach and fare- 
well was discovered in his pocket. We hushed up the 
matter because of the position of the personage therein 
mentioned.” 

At least one man had paid with his life the penalty of 
his devotion to her. Did not this fact force home once 
again the truth of Sonia’s disregarded denunciation that 
Ella was not my friend? It was now plain how neatly I 
had been tricked; and with what artful ingenuity she had 
masqueraded as my wife. M. Grodekoff, the Russian 
Ambassador, Paul Verblioudovitch, and Ivan Renouf all 
knew her true position, yet feared to tell me. Indeed, 
my friend Paul had urged me to marry and forget the 
past, and his Excellency had actually congratulated us 
both with outstretched hand. Because she was so well 
known in Paris she had, while on our honeymoon, only 
remained in the capital the night, and had refused to go 
shopping or show herself unnecessarily. She had pre- 
ferred a quiet, unfashionable hotel in a by-street to any 
of those well known; and I now remembered how, even 
then, she had remained in her room, pleading fatigue and 
headache. From our first meeting to the moment of her 
flight her attitude had been that of a consummate actress. 

“Did Her Highness pass under another name in Lon- 
don?” Goron asked me presently, appearing much in- 
terested. 

“Yes,” I replied. 

“Ah!” he ejaculated. “She is perfectly charming, and 
so fond of concealing her real position beneath the most 
ordinary patronymic. To me, she is always so affable 
and so nice.” 

“Goron is sweet on her also, I believe,” observed Al- 
lender, whereat we all laughed in chorus. 

I struggled to preserve an outward show of indiffer- 


2I6 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


ence, but every word these men uttered stabbed my 
heart deeply. When I had ascertained the whereabouts 
of her house, my first impulse had been to rush out, drive 
there, and meet her face to face, but my nerves were, I 
knew, upset and unsteady, so I remained sitting with my 
light-hearted companions, endeavoring amid that jingle, 
popping of corks, and chatter of London, New York and 
Paris, to think deeply and decide upon the best course to 
pursue. 

“Our chief sent her invitations to the Embassy balls on 
several occasions a year ago, but she declined each,” I 
heard the attache saying: “She’s a royalty, so I suppose 
she thinks herself just a cut above us. But, after all, I 
don’t blame her,” he added, reflectively. “Diplomacy is 
but the art of lying artistically. She has no need to 
struggle for a foothold in society.” 

“Correct,” observed Allender. “The women who flut- 
ter around at our Embassy are the gayest crowd I’ve 
ever struck. I reckon they’re not of her set. But she’s 
a very fine woman, even though she may be a Highness. 
She’s simply beautiful. I’ve seen some fine women in my 
day, but for thrilling a man’s soul and driving him to dis- 
traction, I never saw anyone to compare with her.” 

“That’s so,” Cargill acquiesced. “Yet her refusal to 
come to us has often been remarked by our chiefs es- 
pecially as we’ve entertained a crowd of other princesses 
and high nobilities at one time or another.” 

“She has a reason, I suppose,” observed Goron, slow- 
ly twisting his eternal caporal. 

“Goron appears to know all her secrets,” said Cargill, 
winking at me knowingly. “He trots her about Paris at 
night, and she confides in him all her little anxieties and 
fears. A most charming arrangement.” 

The astute officer, who, by his energetic action, had 
succeeded in effectually stamping out the Anarchist ac- 
tivity, smiled and raised both hands in protest, crying, — 

“No, no, messieurs! It is in you younger men that 
the pretty women confide. As for me, I am old, fat and 
ugly.” 

“But you act as the protector of the philanthropic 
Elizavata Nicolayevna,” observed Cargill, “therefore. 


COSMOPOLITANS. 


217 


when you next see her, tell her how her portrait in Le 
Monde has been admired by an impressionable young 
Englishman, named Deedes, and present to her the com- 
pliments and profound admiration of all three of us.” 

“Don’t do anything of the kind, Goron,” I cried, 
rather angrily. “Remember I know the lady, and such 
words would be an insult.” 

“Very well, if you’re really going to call on her, you 
might convey our message,” exclaimed the attache, non- 
chalantly. “You’re not jealous, are you?” 

“I don’t think there’s any need for jealousy,” I re- 
sponded. 

Goron laughed heartily at this retort. He was more 
shrewd than the others, and I instinctively felt that he 
had guessed that Her Highness and myself were a little 
more than chance-met acquaintances. But the others con- 
tinued their fooling, happy, careless, bubbling over with 
buoyant spirits. Many good fellows frequent the bar of 
the Chatham, one of the most cosmopolitan resorts in 
Europe. Many adventurers and “dead beats” make it 
their headquarters, but of all that merry, easy-going 
crowd of men with money, and those in want of it, to 
find two men more popular and more generous than 
Hugh Cargill and Henry Allender would have been dif- 
ficult. 

As we still sat together smoking and drinking, the pair 
directed their chaff continually in my direction. Evident- 
ly believing that the incomparable beauty of Her High- 
ness had fascinated me, they urged me to go to her and 
suggest a drive in the Bois, a quiet little dinner some- 
where, or a box at the opera. Little did they dream how 
every jesting word they uttered pained me, how each 
laugh at my expense caused me excruciating anguish, or 
how any detrimental allegation, spoken unthinkingly, 
sank deeply into my mind. But I had never worn my 
heart on my sleeve, therefore I treated their banter with 
good humor, determined that, at least for the present, 
they should remain in ignorance of the fact that I was the 
husband of the woman whose adorable face and charming 
manner had excited universal admiration in the gayest 
capital of the world. 


2I8 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 
HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS. 

Until we rose and separated I succeeded in hiding my 
sorrow beneath a smile, but when at length I had shaken 
hands with my companions at the corner of the Rue de la 
Paix, and to my relief found myself once more alone 
walking across the Place Vendome, with the black col- 
umn standing out before me in the bright moonlight, my 
outburst of grief became uncontrollable. My heart, 
lancinated by the careless words of my companions, had 
been burdened by a bitterness rendered the more poig- 
nant because I had been compelled to laugh with them. 
Now that I had proof that Ella was not what she had 
represented herself to be — an affectionate, unassuming 
woman of my own station — I felt crushed, bewildered 
and disconsolate, for with the knowledge of our difference 
of birth the iron had entered my soul. 

The manner in which she had posed as daughter of the 
pleasant-faced widow of Robert Laing, and her calm, 
dignified bearing as my wife, had been a most perfect 
piece of acting. Never for one moment had I suspected 
her to be anything else than what she represented herself 
to be — plain Ella Laing, the only daughter of the de- 
ceased shipowner; yet she was actually a daughter of 
the Romanoffs, the most powerful and wealthy house in 
Europe. As I strolled slowly along the Rue Castiglione 
towards the hotel, I asked myself whether she had ever 
really loved me. At first I doubted her, because of the 
difference of our stations. Presently, however, when I 
recollected the perfect bliss of our honeymoon, when I 
remembered how childishly happy we had been together 
through those brief autumn days, in the sleepy old towns 
and villages of the Indre, content in each other’s joys, I 
could not longer declare within myself that hers had 
been mere theatrical emotion, Yes, she had loved me 


HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS. 


219 


then, this high-born woman, over whose beauty half 
Paris raved, and I, in my ignorance, had fondly imagined 
our love would last always. The experiment of the 
masquerade had amused her at first, perhaps, but soon, 
alas ! she had grown tired of life in a ten-roomed house in 
a quiet road in Kensington, and with a brief, cruel fare- 
well had returned to her jewel-case the ring I had placed 
upon her slim finger, and left me with ruthless disregard 
for all the love I had bestowed upon her. Yet after all, 
was it really surprising that she, the daughter of an Im- 
perial House, should become weary of the humdrum life 
she had been compelled to lead with one whose private 
income, outside his salary, was a paltry nine hundred a 
year? 

While we lived together, she had apparently exercised 
the greatest caution not to show herself possessed of 
money, for she always did her shopping in Kensington 
High Street, with due regard to economy, as became the 
wife of a man of limited means. Never once had she 
grumbled or sighed because she could not purchase 
higher-priced hats or dresses, but always content, she had, 
I remembered, been proud to exhibit to me those odds- 
and-ends picked up in drapers’ shops, so dear to the fem- 
inine heart, and known as bargains. When I had re- 
gretted my small income, as I had done more than once, 
she had fondly kissed me, declaring herself perfectly will- 
ing to wait until I had obtained a diplomatic and more 
lucrative appointment. “You have an excellent friend in 
the Earl,” she would say, smiling sweetly. “He is certain 
to give you a post before long. Be patient.” 

I had been patient, and had lost her. 

Plunged in deep despair, I turned into the courtyard of 
the hotel, and sat down to think. As I did so a servant 
handed me a telegram. It was from Lord Warnham at 
Osborne, requesting my return on the morrow. 

The one thought that possessed me was that Ella — or 
the woman I had known and adored under that name — 
was in Paris. Could I leave without seeing her? She had 
deserted me, it was true, yet my passion was at that 
moment as intense even as it had been in those calm 
autumn days when we had wandered together along the 


220 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


peaceful lanes around old-world Chateauroux, hand-in- 
hand, in sweet contentment. In those never-to-be-for- 
gotten hours we both possessed the delights of love and 
fever of happiness. To us everything was passion, ecsta- 
cy and delirium. We both felt as if we were living in a 
rose-colored atmosphere; the heights of sentimentality 
glistened in our imaginations, and common everyday ex- 
istence appeared to us to be far down below in the dis- 
tance — in the shade between the gaps in these heights. 
I still felt the softness of that tiny hand I had so often 
pressed to my lips; I still felt the clasp of her arms about 
my neck; I still saw her deep blue eyes gazing into mine 
as we interchanged vows of eternal fidelity. 

The cry of the man selling the Soir aroused me. I rose 
suddenly. Yes, I must see her again. I must see her, if 
for the last time. 

Stepping into a cab, I directed the man to drive to her 
house, then, seating myself, glanced at my watch. It was 
already near midnight. 

Soon, with the clip-clap of the horse’s hoofs sounding 
upon the asphalte, we were crossing the Place de la Con- 
corde, rendered bright by its myriad lights, then entering 
the broad avenue we passed the lines of illuminated cafes 
half hidden by the trees surrounding them, and, driving 
on for some ten minutes, at last pulled up among a num- 
ber of private carriages that were setting down guests be- 
fore a great mansion, where I alighted. 

One of those brilliant fetes that were the talk of Paris 
was apparently about to commence, for many notabilities 
were arriving, and as I went forward to the spacious 
portico I was preceded by two pretty laughing girls at- 
tended by a tall and distinguished-looking man of military 
appearance. I drew back while they entered the great, 
brilliantly-lit hall with its fine marble staircase and pro- 
fusion of exotics; then, when they had passed on^ I in- 
quired in French of the gigantic Russian concierge 
whether Her Highness was at home. 

“Yes, m’sieur,” answered the man, gruffly, scanning 
me closely, noticing that I was attired in a suit of dark 
tweed, for so suddenly had I left England that I had had 
no time to take with me a claw-hammer coat. “Her 


HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS. 


221 


Highness is at home, m’sieur, but she is engaged,” he 
said, when he had thoroughly inspected me. 

I half drew my card-case from my pocket, but fearing 
lest she might not see me if she knew my name, I said, — 

“Go to her, and say that a friend craves one moment of 
her time upon an important matter.” 

“M’sieur gives no card?” he inquired, with a quick, 
interrogative look of suspicion. 

“No,” I answered. 

He led me across the hall wherein hung an elaborate 
Russian ikon, down one long well-carpeted corridor and 
then along another, at last ushering me into a great 
apartment resplendent with mirrors, statuary and gilt fur- 
niture, the latter bearing embroidered upon the crimson 
backs of the chairs her monogram, “E. N.” surmounted 
by a Russian coronet. In the costly inlaid cabinets were 
arranged many pieces of priceless china, the carpet was 
of rich turquoise blue, the tables of ebony were inlaid 
with silver, and over all electric lamps, dotted here and 
there, shaded by coral silk, shed a warm, subdued light. 
Near the four long windows that occupied one end of 
the great room was a grand piano, upon which two pho- 
tographs in ormulu frames stood conspicuously. I 
crossed to look at them and discovered that one was my 
own, that she had evidently taken with her when she had 
so suddenly left my house, and the other a portrait of the 
man who had betrayed me — Dudley Ogle. 

Slowly my eyes wandered around the elegant apart- 
ment, unable to realize that this handsome, luxurious 
abode could actually be my wife’s home. How mean and 
paltry indeed must our small drawing-room in Phillimore 
Gardens have appeared to her after all this stately mag- 
nificence and rigid etiquette. As I passed through the 
great mansion, one of the largest private residences in 
Paris, my nostrils had been greeted by the subtle odors 
of exotics, and upon my ears there had fallen the strains 
of an orchestra somewhere in the opposite wing of the 
building. Guests were evidently not shown to the side 
of the house where I had been conducted, for not a sound 
penetrated there. All was quiet, peaceful and stately. 

Suddenly, just as I bent to more closely examine Dud- 


222 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


ley’s portrait, and had distinguished that it was a copy 
similar to the one I had seen in Sonia’s possession, the 
door was thrown wide open by a tall, liveried servant, who 
entered, and, bowing low, announced in stentorian 
tones, — 

“Her Imperial Highness Elizaveta Nicolayevna.” 

The rapid frou-frou of silk sounded outside, and next 
second my wife and I stood face to face. 

In an instant the color left her cheeks. She staggered 
as if she had been dealt a blow, but managing to regain 
her self-possession, she turned quickly to the servant, and 
in a frigid tone said, — 

“Go, Anton. And see that I am not disturbed.” 

The man, glancing at me for a moment in unfeigned 
surprise, bowed, and withdrew in silence. • 

I stood motionless, gazing upon her, noting the beauty 
of her costume, the brilliance of her diamonds, and the 
deathly pallor of her adorable face. 

“Geoffrey!” she gasped at last. In a half-fearful 
whisper she repeated my name, adding, “So you have 
found me!” 

With a quick, impetuous movement she walked un- 
evenly towards me, with rustling skirts and outstretched 
hands. It seemed to me, as I looked at her, as if my soul 
flew towards her, spreading at first like a wave around 
the outline of her head, and then, attracted by the white- 
ness of her breast, descended into her. 

“Yes,” I said, slowly and gravely. “J have found you, 
Ella.” 

“Ah, no!” she cried, advancing so close to me that the 
well-remembered odor of sampaguita intoxicated me. I 
felt her warm, passionate breath upon my cheek. “Do 
not call me longer by that false name. Forget it — forget 
it all, and call me by my right name — Elizaveta.” 

“It is impossible,” I answered. 

“No, do not say that,” she cried hoarsely. “I — I know 
I have deceived you, Geoffrey. I lied to you. But for- 
give me. Tell me that you will some day forget.” 

“Think,” I said, in a low, reproachful tone, my heart 
filled with grief to overflowing — “think how you have 
wrecked my life,” I urged. “You masqueraded before 


HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS. 


223 


me as a plain English girl ; you married me and allowed 
me to adore you — ah ! better than all the world besides — 
until you grew tired and left our poor, matter-of-fact 
home to reassume your true station — that of a Grand 
Duchess. You never loved me; but it amused you, I 
suppose, to become the wife of a man who was compelled 
to earn his livelihood. The economy you practiced 
while with me was a new sensation to you, and your — ” 

“Stop!” she cried vehemently, putting up her tiny hand 
to my mouth, as had been her habit long ago when she 
wished to arrest the flow of my words. “Stop! I cannot 
bear it! I tell you I did love you, Geoffrey. I love you 
now, dearer than life.” 

“Then why did you practice such base deception?” I 
demanded. “Why did you leave me and cast aside my 
wedding ring?” 

“I — I was compelled,” she faltered. 

“Compelled!” I echoed, in a voice full of bitter sarcasm. 
“I do not — indeed I cannot blame you for regretting the 
false step you took when you consented to become my 
wife, yet why you should have done this is to me utterly 
incomprehensible.” 

“It will all be plain ere long,” she assured me, in a low, 
intense voice. “If I had not loved you, I should never 
have become your wife.” 

“But you were cruel to deceive me thus,” I retorted. 

“It is my misfortune, Geoffrey, that I was born a Grand 
Duchess,” she answered, looking straight at me with her 
deep blue eyes full of intense anxiety and sorrow. “It is 
not my fault. I swear I still love you with a love as 
honest and pure as ever a woman entertained towards a 
man.” 

“But after deceiving me in every particular regarding 
both the past and the present, you thought fit to leave 
me,” I went on ruthlessly. 

“Ah!” she exclaimed, as if reflecting, “I admit that I 
wronged you cruelly; yes, I admit it all, everything. 
Nevertheless, since we have parted, Geoffrey, I have rec- 
ollected daily, with a thousand heartfelt regrets, the su- 
preme joy of our married life. Ah! it was happiness, in- 
deed, with you, the man I so dearly loved. But now,” 


224 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


and she shrugged her shoulders, half-hidden in their pale 
blue chiffon, the movement causing her diamonds to 
gleam with ffery iridescence. “Now, without your love, 
I have happiness no longer. All is despair.” 

“I have not forgotten. Every detail of our brief, joy- 
ous life together is still fresh in my memory,” I declared 
sorrowfully. 

“Forgotten! How can either of us forget?” she cried 
impetuously, pushing back from her white brow her gold- 
brown hair, with its scintillating star. “Only in those few 
months spent by your side, Geoffrey, have I known what 
it is to really live and to love. Although I have been 
absent from you I have, nevertheless, known from time 
to time how you have fared, yet I dared not give you any 
sign as to my whereabouts, fearing that you would brand 
me as base and heartless. To you I must appear so, I 
know ; yet, although we are separated, I am still your wife 
and you my husband. I still love you. Forgive me.” 

And she stood before me with bent head in penitent 
attitude, her slight frame shaken by tremulous emotion. 

A lump rose in my throat. I felt choked by the intoxi- 
cation of her love, for I idolized her. Yet I knew that, 
although my wife, she could never be the same to me as in 
those blissful days in Kensington before the shadow of 
suspicion fell between us. 

“You are silent, Geoffrey,” she whispered hoarsely at 
last, starting at the sound of her own voice. Then, throw- 
ing her soft arms about my neck, she clung to me passion- 
ately, as she was wont to do in those bygone days of 
happiness, saying, “You cannot deny that you still care 
for me — that I am yours. Yet you are thinking of the 
past; of what you regard as my base faithlessness! My 
actions were, I admit, full of apparent ingratitude. Yes, 
I cast your great love beneath my feet and trampled it in 
the mire, not because I am what I am, I swear, but be- 
cause such action was imperative — because I was striving 
for my emancipation.” 

“Your emancipation!” I exclaimed, with a touch of 
anger. “From your marriage vows, it seems.” 

“Ah, no!” cried the Grand Duchess, throwing back her 
white neck, which rose with her hot, panting breath. 


HER IMPERIAL HIGHNESS. 


225 


“No, no, not that! I struggled to free myself from a tie 
so hateful that I believe I should have killed myself were 
it not that I loved you so fondly, and hoped that some 
day happiness would again be ours. But, alas! I strove 
in vain; for, when within an ace of success, you became 
filled with suspicion and accused me of unfaithfulness, 
while it became imperative, almost at the same moment, 
that I should return to the position I had sought to re- 
linquish. Since I fled from you I have lived on from day 
to day full of bitter regrets and in constant fear lest you 
should discover that I was not what I represented myself 
to be, and come here to demand an explanation. Well, 
at last you have come, and — and all I can now do is to 
assure you that I acted in our mutual interests, and to 
implore your forgiveness.” 

I still gazed at her without replying. 

“Forgive me, Geoffrey,” she repeated. “One cannot 
get accustomed to the loss of happiness, and I cannot live 
without you; indeed, I cannot. Say that we may begin 
again, that, even though we must for the present be 
parted, we may still love and live for each other. See! I 
am laughing and am happy,” she cried hysterically. 
“Speak! Do speak to me!” 

Tears were trembling in her deep, wonderful eyes like 
dewdrops in the calix of a blue flower, and without 
knowing what I did, I stroked her silky hair. Slowly 
she bent her head, and at last I softly kissed her eyelids. 

“Yes,” I said huskily, “I love you, Ella — for I can call 
you by no other name, and cannot think of you other 
than as the woman I believed you to be. I can see that 
although we are man and wife in the eyes of the law, that 
you were right to end the folly, even though you were 
unable to do it without some pangs of conscience. You 
are my wife, it is true, but our lives lie apart, for your 
position precludes you from acknowledging me to the 
world as your husband. You — ” 

“Yes, I will. I will, Geoffrey! Soon I shall be freed 
from this terrible yoke that crushes me beneath its bur- 
den,” she exclaimed eagerly. “Be patient, and ere long 
we may again live together and enjoy our happiness to 
the full. You still doubt that I really love you. You 

15 


226 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


believe that my marriage was a mere freak, of which I 
afterwards repented, and then strove to hide my identity. 
What can I do?” she cried dismayed. “What can I do to 
give you proof that I love no other man?” 

“One very small action,” I answered gravely, still hold- 
ing her slight, trembling form in my arms. 

“What is it?” she inquired quickly, glancing up into 
my face. “I am ready to do it, whatever it is.” 

For a moment I paused in hesitation. 

“Answer me a single question, Ella,” I said. “Re- 
member you are my wife, and should have no secrets from 
me. Tell me, truthfully and honestly, how there came 
into your possession the secret document that was stolen 
from me on the day of Dudley’s death.” 

The color left her face, her lips moved, and a slight 
shiver ran over her shoulders as she gazed at me. Never 
before had her eyes seemed so large, nor had there been 
such depths in them. Some subtle influence seemed in 
an instant to have transfigured her whole being. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE SEAL OF SILENCE. 

“No, you must not ask me, for I cannot tell you,” she 
faltered, after I had gravely repeated my earnest inquiry. 
She shrank from my embrace, and as she stood before 
me, her handsome head was bent in an attitude of utter 
dejection. 

“Ah, the same lame story!” I cried impatiently. “You 
refuse.” 

She raised her sad eyes. I saw in their clear depths a 
yearning for pity. 

“I dare not tell you yet, Geoffrey,” she whispered, in a 
strained, terrified voice. 

“You know well how much keen anxiety the loss of 
that document caused me,” I said. “Why did you not tell 
me that it was in your keeping?” 


THE SEAL OF SILENCE. 227 

*Tt was not in my keeping,” she protested. ‘T re- 
covered it only a few days before we parted.” 

“But you knew something of its whereabouts?” I 
argued. 

‘T was not certain,” she vaguely replied, her slim fin- 
gers picking at the bands of pearl passementerie across 
the flimsy chiffon of her bodice. 

With an expression of disbelief I turned from her. 

“Ah, Geoffrey,” she cried wildly, “I am fully conscious 
of what your thoughts must be. Now that you have dis- 
covered my true position, that I am a Russian, you be- 
lieve I had a hand in the theft of the Anglo-German Con- 
vention ; that by my machinations its text was transmitted 
to St. Petersburg — eh?” 

No answer passed my lips, but I think I bowed my head 
in confirmation of her fevered words. 

“Well, it is untrue, as you will learn some day. It is 
untrue, I swear,” she exclaimed with terrible earnestness. 
“Instead of endeavoring to bring suspicion and oppro- 
brium upon you, and disaster upon the nations of Europe, 
I have striven both night and day to clear away the ill 
effect produced by the dastard revelations made to our 
Ministry in St. Petersburg. Remember that the single 
spark required to fire the mine and convulse the world 
from Calais to Pekin was not applied; the Tzar refrained 
from declaring war. Some day you, and through you, 
the British Government, will know" the reason a recourse 
to arms was averted. When you are made aware of the 
truth, then no longer will you misjudge me.” 

She spoke with a fervency that was entirely unfeigned; 
her bright eyes met mine with unwavering glance, and 
with a quick movement she had placed one hand upon her 
breast as if to allay the palpitation there. Her heart was 
full; upon her fair face was an expression of mingled 
anxiety and dread, and her bejewelled hands trembled. 

“I am your husband,” I said calmly. “If I promise 
you not to divulge — surely I may know your secret, 
whatever it may be.” 

“No,” she answered, speaking almost mechanically, “I 
dare not tell you anything at present. It would be fatal 
to all my plans — fatal to me, and to you.” 


228 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


'‘You speak so strangely/’ I observed, with some 
warmth. "Mystery seems one of your idiosyncrasies.” 

"Ah/’ she sighed, advancing a step towards me, her 
head sunk upon her breast, "it is imperative. You can- 
not know how I have suffered, Geoffrey, ever since we 
met. Long ago at ‘The Nook,’ fearing that I should 
bring you unhappiness, I strove to tear myself from you 
and return here to this life, but was unable. I loved you, 
and hated all the strict etiquette and theatrical displays 
with which I am bound to surround myself, merely be- 
cause I chance to be born of an Imperial family. I mar- 
ried you, and content in the knowledge that you loved 
me devotedly, I was prepared to renounce my name and 
live quietly vv^ith you always. But, alas! we of the Roman- 
offs are ruled by the head of our House, and our actions 
are ofttimes in obedience to the will of the Emperor. I 
was compelled to depart without revealing to you the 
secret of my birth.” 

"But why did you masquerade in that manner?” 1 in- 
quired. 

"At first I did so in order to avoid all the trammels of 
Court life in St. Petersburg, the eternal gayety of la Ville 
Lumiere, and to be free to do what I liked and go where 
I chose,” she answered. "Soon, however, my life as Ella 
Laing became a stern reality, for I met and loved you.” 

"Then you regretted?” 

"I regretted only because I feared that I cared for you 
too much — that one day we should be compelled to part.” 

"You knew that it was impossible for you to renounce 
both title and position,” I hazarded, looking at her 
gravely. 

"I feared that my family would not allow me to do so,” 
she answered frankly. "Yet you proposed marriage; we 
became man and wife, and the first weeks of our new life 
were full of joy and happiness. Soon, however, the Ne- 
mesis that I dreaded fell upon me, crushing all desire for 
life from my heart. I was compelled to fly and leave you 
in ignorance.” 

"And you forgot that in your escritoire there remained 
the stolen agreement?” I said slowly, looking straight 
into her pale face. 


THE SEAL OF SILENCE. 


229 


“Yes, I admit it,” she replied, in a voice almost inaud- 
ible, her dry lips moving convulsively. “So full was my 
mind of thoughts of you that I did not remember it until 
too late to return and secure it.” 

“The woman who passed as Mrs. Laing was not, of 
course, your mother?” 

“She was no relation whatever. I paid her to pose as 
my maternal relative and keep house for me.” 

“Where is she now?” 

“I have no idea,” my wife answered. “She was a curi- 
ous woman, and, strangely enough, she left London sud- 
denly, on the very morning of the day of my departure.” 

“And what of Beck?” I asked. “Did he know who 
you really were?” 

“Scarcely,” she exclaimed. “Do you think he could 
have kept to himself the knowledge that I was a relative 
of the Tzar? Why, such a man would have related the 
fact that he knew me, and dined at our house, to every 
member of his club within twenty-four hours. You know, 
as well as I do, how he simply adores anybody with a 
title. It is the same with all the newly-wealthy crowd 
who are struggling to get into society.” 

It was upon my tongue to explain to her the truth re- 
garding the manservant who passed as Helmholtz ; never- 
theless, I hesitated to do so at present because of my 
promise to Paul Verblioudovitch. The silence between 
us was protracted. She had covered her tear-stained face 
with her hands, and was sobbing. 

Nevertheless, I was not moved with pity. Her deter- 
mination to preserve her secret filled me with annoyance. 
I had expected her to make confession, but I plainly saw 
she had no intention of revealing the truth. 

“Why did you associate with a woman of such doubtful 
reputation as Sonia Korolenko?” I asked abruptly at last. 

“Because I wished to ascertain something,” she re- 
plied, in a harsh voice. 

“She is scarcely your friend,” I observed. 

“She is,” she declared. “I have known her for several 
years.” 

“And you were actually aware of her true character 
while associating with her!” I exclaimed, rather surprised. 


230 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“Of course/’ she sighed. “She is an adventuress, I 
know; nevertheless, she has proved my friend on many 
occasions.” 

“That’s curious,” I remarked. 

“Why?” 

“Because she made certain allegations against you,” I 
answered. 

“Yes,” she said, without betraying either anger or sur- 
prise. “I am fully aware of that. Strange though it 
may appear, her statements were made with a definite 
object.” 

“Why did she utter such unfounded calumnies?” 

“Because I wished to see whether you really loved me,” 
she answered, drawing herself up and regarding me with 
sudden calmness. At that moment she assumed the air 
of the Grand Duchess. 

“I did love you,” I declared, “and I took no heed of 
her assertions. I notice, however,” I added, turning and 
pointing towards the piano, “I notice that you have 
placed in a position of conspicuousness the portrait of the 
man she declared was your lover. Side by side you have 
placed the pictures of betrayer and betrayed.” 

She held her breath, gazing across to the spot I had in- 
dicated. Then, in a voice full of emotion, she said, — 

“You were foully betrayed, Geoffrey, it is true, but the 
evil that was done has now been eradicated.” 

“In other words, Ogle has paid the death penalty, eh?” 
I observed, with a grim expression of satisfaction. 

“No, no, not that,” she protested seriously. “I mean 
that the strained relations between your country and mine 
have now been readjusted, and that a feeling more amic- 
able than before prevails. Even the Earl of Warnham 
must admit the plain truth that no Power joins another 
in war unless it sees its own interest in so doing. Russia 
now, as before the effusion of hearts here in Paris, will at- 
tend to her own business, and will not send her Black Sea 
and Baltic Fleets flying out unless her interests bring her 
into collision with your British Government — and then it 
may happen it will not be to the interest of France to fight. 
In the latter days of Louis Philippe there was talk of a 
Franco-Russian alliance, and there were people who 


THE SEAL OF SILENCE. 


231 


knew — they did not think they knew on the best authority 
— that the two would be one next spring. Yet Louis 
Philippe went over to your England an exile by the useful 
name of Smith, and before long France and England were 
allied in war against my country. No, good counsel has 
prevailed, and by the very revelation of the secret alliance 
contracted between England and Germany, European 
peace has been secured.” 

“You talk like a diplomatist,” I observed reflectively. 

She shrugged her shoulders, and with a forced laugh 
said, — 

“It is but natural that I should take an interest in the 
affairs of nations, I suppose.” 

“Let us put them aside,” I said. “We are not rival 
diplomatists, but husband and wife; we — ” 

“Yes, yes,” she cried, interrupting. “I am happy be- 
cause you are here with me; you, whose presence I 
have been fearing for so long. See! I smile and am 
happy;” and she gave vent to a hollow, discordant laugh. 

“Happy because you have so successfully mystified 
me,” I sighed. 

“No. Happy because I love you, Geoffrey,” she ex- 
claimed, again throwing her arms affectionately about my 
neck, and raising her full red lips to mine. “Forgive me; 
do say you will forgive me,” she implored. 

“How can I ever forget the ingenuity and deep cun- 
ning with which you deceived me,” I said. “I cannot but 
recollect how, on that night at Chesham House, Grode- 
koff congratulated you upon your marriage, yet how care- 
ful he was not to disclose to me your identity. Again, 
even my friend Verblioudovitch must have known who 
you really were. Why did he not tell me?” 

“Because the staff of the Embassy had already received 
strict orders from St. Petersburg not to acknowledge 
me,” she exclaimed, with a smile. “Lord Warnham 
fancied he recognized me, and spoke to the Ambassador; 
but the latter succeeded in assuring him that before mar- 
riage I was Ella Laing, and that the Grand Duchess 
Elizaveta Nicolayevna was at that moment with the 
Tzarina at Tzarskoie-Selo. He believed it, and afterwards 
M’sieur Grodekoff assured me that was the first occasion 


232 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


he had been enabled to successfuly deceive your lynx- 
eyed Foreign Minister/’ 

“You feared that the Earl might recognize you,” I ex- 
claimed, surprised, for I now remembered the effect pro- 
duced on my chief when his eyes had first fallen upon my 
wife. “You knew him, then?” 

“Ah, no,” she faltered; “well, we were not exactly 
acquainted,” and she appeared rather confused, I thought, 
for her cheeks were suffused by the faintest suspicion of 
a blush. 

“Did you expect he would be there?” 

“No; you told me distinctly that he was not going, 
otherwise I should never have accompanied you,” she 
said frankly. 

“Why?” 

“Because I did not desire to meet him,” she replied, 
adding, with a laugh, “As it was, however, he was satis- 
fied, and went away marveling, no doubt, at the striking 
resemblance.” 

“Yet you told me nothing,” I observed reproachfully. 

“No; I was afraid,” she replied, in a serious voice. 
“With you I lived on from day to day, fearing detection, 
dreading lest you should discover some facts regarding 
my past, and by their light believe me to be an adven- 
turess. Yet, at the same time, I worked on to achieve 
my freedom from a yoke which had become so galling 
that, now I loved you, I could endure it no longer.” 

“And did you not succeed in breaking asunder this 
mysterious bond?” I inquired, half doubtfully. 

“No,” she answered, shaking her head sorrowfully. 
“By an untoward circumstance, against which I had not 
provided, I was prevented, and compelled to flee.” 

“If you will divulge absolutely nothing regarding the 
manner in which you became possessed of the stolen con- 
vention, or the reason you have masqueraded as my wife, 
you can at least tell me why you received so many com- 
munications regarding clandestine meetings, and explain 
who was your mysterious correspondent who signed him- 
self ‘X.’ ” 

Her heart beat quickly; she sighed, and lowered her 


THE SEAL OF SILENCE. 233 

gaze. She strove to preserve a demeanor of calm hauteur 
as befitted her station, but in vain. 

“You have also found those letters,” she remarked, her 
voice trembling. 

“Yes. Tell me the truth and put my mind at ease.” 

“I can put your mind entirely at ease by assuring you, 
as I did after you detected me walking in Kensington 
Gardens, that I have had no lover besides yourself, 
Geoffrey,” she cried vehemently. “I have told you al- 
ready that I worked to secure freedom of action in the 
future. Those letters were from one who rendered me 
considerable assistance.” 

“What was his name?” I demanded quickly. 

“I may not tell you that,” was her answer, uttered in a 
quiet, firm tone. 

“Then, speaking plainly, you refuse, even now, to give 
me any elucidation whatever of this irritating mystery, or 
to allow me to obtain any corroboration of your remark- 
able story,” I said, with a sudden coldness. 

She noticed my change of manner, and clung to me 
with uplifted face, pale and agitated. Her attempt to 
treat me as other than her husband had utterly failed. 

“Ah ! do not speak so cruelly,” she exclaimed, panting. 
“I — I really cannot bear it, Geoffrey — indeed I can’t. 
You must have seen that I loved you. I was, when I 
married, prepared to sacrifice all for your sake ; nay, I did 
sacrifice everything until — until I was forced from you, 
and thrust back here to this place, that to me is little else 
than a gilded prison. Ah!” she cried, sobbing bitterly, 
and gazing around her in despair, “you cannot know how 
deeply I have sorrowed, how poignant has been the grief 
in the secret and inmost recesses of my heart; or how, 
through these months, while I have been traveling, I have 
longed to see you once again, and hear your voice telling 
me of your love. But, alas! without knowledge of the 
strange secret that seals my lips, you can know nothing — 
nothing!” 

“I only know that I still adore you,” I said, with heart- 
felt fervency. 

“Ah! I knew you did,” she exclaimed, raising her eager 
lips to mine in ecstasy. “I knew you would pity me when 


234 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


you came, yet I feared — I feared because I had lied to 
you, and deceived you so completely.” Then she kissed 
my lips, but I did not return her hot, passionate caress, 
although I confess it made my head reel. 

“You have not forgiven,” she exclaimed, in a voice 
quivering with emotion, as she drew back. “You have 
not yet promised that you will still regard me as your 
wife.” 

I hesitated. The startling fact of her true station, and 
the revelation of how ingeniously I had been tricked, 
caused me a slight revulsion of feeling. Somehow, as 
Grand Duchess she seemed an entirely different being to 
the plain unassuming woman I had known as Ella. From 
the crown of her well-dressed hair to the point of her tiny 
white kid shoe with its pearl embroidery, she was a patri- 
cian; the magnificence of her dress and jewels dazzled 
me, yet in her declarations of devotion her voice seemed 
to be marred by some indefinable but spurious ring. 

Even now she was deceiving me. She would allow no 
word of her mysterious secret to pass her lips. It had 
always been the same. She would tell me absolutely 
nothing, vaguely asserting that to utter the truth would 
be to invoke an avenging power that she dreaded. I re- 
membered how she had seemed terrorized on more than 
one occasion when I had demanded the truth, yet what I 
had learned that night increased my suspicions. 

“If I forgive and seek no explanation of the past,” I 
said at last, “we must, I suppose, remain parted.” 

“Ah, yes!” she gasped. “But only for a few short 
weeks. Then we will come together again never to part 
— never.” 

“I can forgive on one condition only,” I said — “that 
you tell me the truth regarding the dastardly theft from 
me on the day of Dudley’s death.” 

For an instant she was silent. Then, burying her face 
on my shoulder, sobbing, she answered in a tone so low as 
to be almost inaudible, — 

“I cannot!” 

Gently but firmly I put her from me, although she 
clung about my neck, urging me to pity her, 


THE SEAL OF SILENCE. 


235 


‘T cannot pity you if you refuse to repose confidence in 
me,” I answered. 

“I do not refuse,” she cried. ‘Tt is because my secret 
is of such a nature that, if divulged, it would wreck both 
your own happiness and mine.” 

“Then to argue further is absolutely useless,” I an- 
swered coldly. “We must part.” 

“You intend to leave me without forgiveness,” she 
wailed. “Ah, you will not be so cruel, Geoffrey. Surely 
you can see how passionately I love you.” 

“You do not, however, love me sufficiently well to risk 
all consequences of divulging your mysterious secret,” I 
retorted, with almost brutal indifference, turning slowly 
from her. 

“Then kiss me, Geoffrey,” she cried wildly, springing 
towards me and again entwining her soft arms about my 
neck. “Kiss me once again — if for the last time.” 

Our lips met for an instant, then slowly I disengaged 
myself and strode towards the door. In her refusal to 
throw light upon the incidents that had so long held me 
perplexed and bewildered, I fancied she was shielding 
someone. Although crushed and downcast, I had re- 
solved to go forth into the world again with my terrible 
burden of sorrow concealed beneath a smiling counten- 
ance. I regretted deeply that I had sought her, now that ^ 
I was aware of the gulf that lay between us. 

“Stay, Geoffrey! Stay. I cannot bear that you should 
go,” she wailed. 

Halting, I turned towards her, saying, — 

“When I have learned the truth, then only will I re- 
turn. Till then, I can have no faith in you.” 

“But you are my husband, Geoffrey. I love you.” 

She tottered forward unevenly, as if to follow me, but 
ere I could save her she staggered and fell forward upon 
the carpet in a dead faint. 

I rang the bell violently, then, with a final glance at the 
blanched features of the woman I so dearly loved, I passed 
out, struggling through the brilliant, laughing throng ot 
guests in the great hall, and was soon alone in utter de- 
jection beneath the trees in the long, gas-lit avenue. 


236 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 

In brilliant sunshine, with the larks singing merrily in 
the cloudless vault of blue, and the air heavy with the 
scent of hay, I drove from Horsham station along the old 
turnpike road to Warnham Hall. A carriage had been 
sent for me, as usual, and as I sat back moodily, I fear I 
saw little of interest in the typical English landscape. The 
joys of the world were dead to me, consumed as I was 
by the one great sorrow of my life. My mind was full 
of the tristful past. I had reached London from Paris 
on the previous night, and in response to a telegram from 
the Earl, saying he had left Osborne and gone to the 
Hall, I had traveled down by the morning train. 

As we entered the park and drove up the broad, well- 
kept drive, the startled deer bounded away, and the emus 
raised their small heads with resentful, inquiring glance, 
but dashing along, the pair of spanking bays quickly 
brought me up to the great gray portico. As soon as I 
alighted I handed over my traps to one of the servants 
and walked straight to the great oak-panelled dining- 
room. 

As I paused at the door, it suddenly opened, and a man 
emerged so quickly that he almost stumbled over me. 
Our eyes met. I stood aghast, staring as if I had seen an 
apparition. In the semi-darkness of the corridor I doubt 
whether my face was quite distinguishable, but upon his 
there shone the slanting rays of light from an old dia- 
mond-paned window. In an instant I recognized the fea- 
tures, although I had only seen them once before. 

It was the foppish young man who had been Ella’s 
companion on that lonely walk in Kensington Gardens. 

Why he had visited the Earl was an inscrutable mys- 
tery. He regarded me in surprise for a single instant. 


HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 


237 


then thrusting both hands negligently into his trousers 
pockets, strode leisurely away along the corridor, a straw 
hat with black and white band placed jauntily at the back 
of his head. I watched him until he had turned the 
corner and disappeared, then I entered the great old- 
fashioned apartment. 

“Well, Deedes?” exclaimed the Earl, in a voice that 
was unusually cheerful. He was standing at the window 
gazing across the park, but my presence caused him to 
turn sharply. “Back again, then?” 

“Yes. I think I have fulfilled the mission,” I managed 
to exclaim. Truth to tell, this extraordinary encounter 
had caused me considerable perplexity and annoyance. 

“You have done excellently,” he said. “A telegram 
this morning from Lord Worthorpe shows with what tact 
you put matters to him, and I am glad to tell you that his 
interview with the President proved entirely satisfactory. 
I wired the news to Her Majesty only half-an-hour ago.” 

“I did my best,” I observed, perhaps a trifle carelessly, 
for there was another matter upon which I was anxious 
to consult my eccentric benefactor. 

“The task was one of unusual difficulty, I admit, 
Deedes, and you have shown yourself fully qualified for 
a post abroad. You shall have one before long.” 

At other times I should have warmly welcomed the 
enthusiasm of this speech, and thanked him heartily for 
the promise of a more lucrative position, but now, crushed 
and hopeless, I felt that joy had left my soul for ever, and 
merely replied, — 

“I am quite satisfied to be as I am. I do not care for 
the Continent.” 

“Why?” he inquired, surprised. “If you remain in the 
Service here you will have but little chance of distinguish- 
ing yourself, whereas in Rome, Constantinople or Berlin, 
you might obtain chances of promotion.” 

“I have been already in St. Petersburg, you remember,” 
I said. 

“Ah, of course. But you didn’t get on very well 
there,” he said. “It is a difficult staff for younger men to 
work amongst. You’d be more comfortable in Vienna, 
perhaps. Viennese society would suit you, wouldn’t it?” 


238 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“No,” I replied, very gravely. “I fear that hencefor- 
ward I shall be, like yourself, a hater of society and all its 
ways.” 

“Oh!” he exclaimed, placing his hands beneath his 
coat-tails, a habit of his when about to enter any earnest 
consultation. “Why?” 

“Well, if you desire to know the truth,” I said, “it con- 
cerns my marriage.” 

“Ah, of course!” he observed, with deep sorrow. “I 
had quite forgotten that unfortunate affair. Yet time will 
cause you to forget. You are young, remember, Deedes 
— very young, compared with an old stager like myself.” 

“It is scarcely likely that I shall forget so easily,” I 
said, after a slight pause. “Since I have been in Paris I 
have made a discovery that has bewildered me. I confide 
in you because you are the only person who knows the 
secret of my wife’s flight.” 

“Quite right,” he said, regarding me with those pierc- 
ing eyes shaded by their gray, shaggy brows. “If I can 
assist you or give you advice I am always pleased, for the 
romance of your marriage is the strangest I have ever 
known.” 

“Yes,” I acquiesced, “and the truth I have accidentally 
learned still stranger. I have discovered that my wife 
was never Ella Laing, as I had believed, but that she 
really is the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Nicolayevna of 
Russia.” 

“The Grand Duchess!” he cried, amazed, his eyes 
aflame in an instant. “Are you certain of this ; have you 
absolute proof?” 

“Absolute. I have seen her, and she has admitted it, 
and told me that she masqueraded in England as Ella 
Laing because she desired to avoid Court etiquette for a 
time,” I said. 

“Grodekoff lied,” he growled in an ebullition of anger. 
“I recognized her at the Embassy ball when you pointed 
her out, yet the Ambassador assured me that Her 
Highness was at that moment in Russia. We have both 
been tricked, Deedes. But he who laughs last laughs 
longest.” 

He had folded his arms and was standing resolutely 


HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 239 

before me, gazing upon the dead green carpet deep in 
thought. 

“The mystery becomes daily more puzzling,’’ he said at 
length, seating himself. “Tell me all that transpired be- 
tween you.” 

I sank into a chair opposite the renowned chief of the 
Foreign Office and repeated the conversation that had 
taken place at our interview, while he listened attentively 
without hazarding a single remark. 

“Then again she would tell you nothing,” exclaimed the 
Earl, when I had concluded. “She refused absolutely to 
divulge her secret.” 

“Yes,” I said. “I promised to forgive if she would 
only tell me the truth. She refused; so we have parted.” 

“And what do you intend doing?” 

“I intend to seek the truth for myself,” I answered 
with fierce resolve. 

“How?” 

“I have not yet decided,” I said. “The reason she took 
such infinite pains to conceal her identity is incompre- 
hensible, but her firm resolution to preserve her secret at 
all hazards appears as though she is in deadly fear of 
exposure by some person or other who can only be con- 
ciliated by absolute silence.” 

“Then we must discover who that person is.” 

I nodded, answering: — “I intend to do so.” 

Presently, after he had crossed and recrossed the room 
several times with hands behind his back, murmuring to 
himself in apparent discontent, but in tones that were un- 
distinguishable, I turned to him saying, — 

“As I entered, a visitor left you. Who is he?” 

“Cecil Bingham. He is staying with me for a few 
days.” 

“A friend?” 

“Well — yes,” answered his Lordship, halting, and re- 
garding me with no little surprise. “What do you know 
of him?” 

At first I hesitated, but on reflection resolved to ex- 
plain the circumstances in which we had met, and slowly 
related to him how I had encountered him with my wife 


240 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

in Kensington Gardens on that well-remembered wintry 
afternoon. 

The Earl grew grave, and after observing that Bing- 
ham had arrived on the previous day to spend a week, he 
for some moments stood looking aimlessly out of the 
window upon the broad park and the great sheet of 
water glistening in the sunlight beyond. Then, mutter- 
ing something I could not catch, he walked quickly back 
to the fireplace, and touched the electric bell. 

“Ask Mr. Bingham to see me for a moment,” he ex- 
claimed, when the man answered the summons, and in a 
few minutes the Earl’s guest came in with that affected 
jaunty air that had caused me to class him as a cad. 

When he had entered, the Earl himself walked to the 
door and softly closed it, then, turning, said in a hard, 
dry voice, — 

“This, Cecil, is my secretary, Deedes, the husband of 
the woman known as Ella Laing, with whom you have, 
I understand, been in correspondence, and have met 
clandestinely on many occasions.” 

“What do you mean?” he cried, resentfully, glancing 
from the Earl to myself. “I know no one of that 
name. You are mistaken.” 

“There is no mistake,” answered the great statesman, 
coldly, at the same time taking from an old oak bureau a 
large linen-lined envelope of the kind used in our De- 
partment. From a drawer he took one of his visitor’s 
letters, while from the envelope he drew forth a second 
letter. At a glance I saw that the latter was one of those 
mysterious missives signed “X” that had been received 
by my wife. Opening both, he placed them together and 
handed them to me without comment. 

They were in the same handwriting. 

“Do you deny having written that letter?” asked the 
Minister, sternly, at the same time showing him the note. 
He made a motion to take it, but suddenly drew away 
his hand. His lips contracted, his face grew pale, and 
with a gesture of feigned contempt he waved the Earl’s 
hand aside. 

“Do you deny it?” repeated my chief. 


HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 241 

He was still silent — his face a sufficient index to the 
agitation within him. 

“You have endeavored to deceive me,” continued the 
Earl, harshly. “You have some fixed purpose in accept- 
ing my invitation, and coming here to visit me, but you 
were unaware that already I had knowledge of facts you 
have endeavored so cunningly to conceal. It is useless 
to deny that you are acquainted with Deedes’ wife, for he 
recognizes you as having walked with her in Kensington 
Gardens, while I have ascertained at last who she really 
is — that her name was never Ella Laing.” 

He started at this announcement. His lips moved, 
but no word escaped him. 

That the Earl should have learned the true name and 
station of my wife apparently disconcerted him. His 
complexion was of ashen hue; all his arrogance had left 
him, for he saw himself cornered. I stood glaring at him 
fiercely, for was not I face to face with the man whom 
my wife had met times without number, concealing from 
me all motive or duration of her absences? Some secret 
had existed between them — he was the man whom she 
apparently feared, and whose will she had obeyed. I 
felt that now, at last, I should ascertain the truth, and ob- 
tain a key to the strange perplexing enigma that had held 
me in doubt and suspicion through so many weary 
months. 

His shifty gaze met mine; I detected a fierce glint in 
his eyes. 

“Well?” exclaimed his Lordship, as determined as my- 
self upon seeking a solution of the problem. “Now that 
you admit these mysterious meetings with Her High- 
ness, perhaps you will explain their object.” 

“I admit nothing,” he answered in anger, knitting his 
brows. “Neither have I anything to explain.” 

“See!” the Earl said, drawing Ella’s photograph from 
the envelope. “Perhaps you will recognize this picture?” 
and his bony hand trembled with suppressed excitement 
as he placed it before him. 

At sight of it my wife’s strange friend drew a long 
breath. He was white to the lips. Never before had I 
witnessed such a complete change in any man in so short 
16 


242 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


a period, and especially curious, it seemed, when I re- 
flected that he had been charged with no very serious 
crime. 

“You may allege whatever it may please you,” he said 
at last, with affected sarcasm. “But a woman’s honor is 
safe in my hands.” 

“My wife’s honor!” I cried, with fierce indignation, 
walking towards him threateningly. I could no longer 
stand by in silence when I recollected what Ella had said 
about being compelled to act according to the will of an- 
other. She had, no doubt, been under the thrall of this 
overdressed dandy. “Now that we have met,” I ex- 
claimed, “you shall explain to me, her husband.” 

With a quick movement he strode forward as if to 
escape us, but in an instant I had gripped him by the 
shoulder with fierce determination, while the Earl him- 
self, apprehending his intention, placed his back against 
the door. 

“Speak!” I cried wildly, shaking him in my anger. 
“You shall tell us the true nature of the secret between 
you and my wife, and prove your statement to our satis- 
faction, or, by Heaven, I’ll thrash you as a cunning, 
cowardly cur!” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

DUE EAST. 

“Bah!” retorted the Earl’s visitor, contemptuously, 
shaking himself free with a sudden twist, and standing 
before me in defiance. “I understand,” he cried, glancing 
towards the elder man before the door. “You believe, 
gentlemen, that from me you can ascertain a key to cer- 
tain curious occurrences that have puzzled you. But I 
may as well undeceive you at once. I can tell you ab- 
solutely nothing.” 

“But you shall tell us!” I cried angrily. “I found you 
walking with my wife in Kensington Gardens, and fol- 
lowed you. It was apparent from her demeanor that she 
feared you.” 


DUE EAST. 243 

He smiled sarcastically, and answered with a flippant 
air: 

‘‘Perhaps she did. If so, she certainly had cause.” 

“Why? What power do you hold over her, pray?” I 
demanded. 

In his eyes was a mysterious glance. He was scarcely 
the brainless young dandy that I had imagined. 

“It is hardly likely that I shall divulge to you a secret. 
Remember that your wife comes of one of the highest 
families in Europe, and the slightest breath of scandal 
must reflect upon them.” 

“At what scandal do you hint?” I asked, in fierce, 
breathless eagerness. 

“At what is best kept quiet,” he answered, gravely. 

His enigmatical words maddened me. I felt that I 
could spring upon him and strangle him, for I knew in- 
stinctively that he was my wife’s enemy — the man of 
whom she lived in deadly fear. If only I could silence 
him, she might then relate to me those long-promised 
facts. 

“Then if you decline to prove that there is a con- 
cealed scandal, utter no more of your lying allegations,” 
I blurted forth. 

He bowed deeply with mock politeness, and smiled 
grimly. 

“Come,” exclaimed the Earl at last, in a conciliatory 
tone, advancing towards him and laying his hand upon 
his shoulder. “Let us get at once to the point. It is 
useless to quarrel. You decline to reveal to us the na- 
ture of your curious friendship with the Grand Duchess 
—eh?” 

“I do,” he answered,* firmly. 

“Well,” said the tactful old Minister. “First carefully 
review the situation, and you will, I think, admit that I 
have been your friend. And how have you shown your 
gratitude?” 

“By concealing from you a truth both hideous and ter- 
rible,” he replied, with apparent unconcern. 

“But you can, if you will, give us some clue to this 
remarkable chain of circumstances. I appeal to you on 
behalf of Deedes, her husband,-’ the old man said. 


244 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


‘H am well aware of the reason you yourself desire to 
know the absolute truth, Lord Warnham,” he answered, 
after a brief pause, “but, unfortunately, I am unable to 
tell you, because of certain promises having been ex- 
tracted from me.” 

“At least you can tell us from whom I may ascertain 
the true facts,” I cried. 

He looked at me for an instant gravely, then answered 
in all seriousness: 

“The only person who knows the truth is Sonia Koro- 
lenko, the refugee.” 

“Sonia!” gasped the Earl. “That woman is not in 
England, surely?” 

“I think not,” Bingham replied. “But if you would 
ascertain the key to the enigma, seek her, and she may 
explain everything. That is as far as I can assist you. 
Remember, I myself have revealed nothing.” 

“She has returned to Russia,” I observed. “Have you 
any knowledge where she is?” 

“No, there are reasons why her whereabouts should 
remain unknown,” he answered, hesitatingly. “She is in 
fear of the police.” 

“Do her friends know of her hiding-place?” 

“No. A short time ago I desired to communicate with 
her, but was unable. The last I heard of her was that 
she was living at Skerstymone, a little town somewhere 
in Poland.” 

“If she can successfully elude the vigilance of the Rus- 
sian police, I can have but little hope of finding her,” I 
said, doubtfully. 

“Make the attempt, Deedes,” the Earl suggested. “I 
will give you leave of absence.” 

“I intend to do so,” I replied; and remembering my 
wife, lonely amid all her splendor, I added, “The eluci- 
dation of the mystery is, as it has long since been, the 
main object of my life.” 

In consultation we sat a long time. This caddish 
young man of whom I had been so madly jealous had 
now grown quite calm and communicative, apparently 
ready to render me all assistance; yet to my questions 
regarding my wife he was as dumb as others had been. 


DUE EAST. 


245 


Now, more than ever, the Earl seemed anxious to solve 
the strange problem. With that object he obtained from 
the library a section of the large ordinance map of the 
Russian Empire, and with it spread before us we discov- 
ered that Skerstymone was a little place remotely situ- 
ated on the bank of the Niemen river, within a short dis- 
tance of the German frontier. I had long ago learned 
from Paul Verblioudovitch that my friend, the well- 
known adventuress, had crossed the frontier at Wirbal- 
len, or Verjbolovo, as it is called in Russian; but after 
that I knew nothing of her movements. Bingham seemed 
anxious to lead me indirectly towards the truth, and after 
assuring me with a firm hand-grasp that the secret that 
existed between himself and my wife was of a purely pla- 
tonic nature, and that he had throughout acted on her 
behalf, I ate a hasty luncheon and again left the Hall on 
the first stage of my long, tedious journey across Europe. 
As I entered the carriage the old Earl and his guest stood 
out upon the graveled drive and heartily wished me “Bon 
voyage,” and, waving them farewell, I was whirled away 
through the great park that lay silent and breathless be- 
neath the scorching sun. 

At the bookstall at Horsham station I bought an early 
edition of the Globe, and on opening it in the train my 
eyes fell upon the following announcement in its “Court 
and Personal” column: — 

“A marriage is arranged, and will shortly take place 
between Mr. Andrew Beck, the Member for West Rut- 
landshire, who is well known in connection with African 
mines, and Miss Gertrude Millard, only daughter of Sir 
Maynard Millard, Bart, of Spennythorpe Park, Mont- 
gomeryshire.” 

This was not exactly unexpected, for I had already 
heard vague rumors that news of Beck’s engagement 
would shortly be made public, therefore I tore out the 
paragraph and placed it in my pocket-book, with the 
reflection that my friend’s marriage might be more happy 
than mine. 

That evening about six o’clock I called at Chesham 
House, the Russian Embassy, and obtained the signature 
of the Ambassador, M. Grodekoflf, to my passport. I did 


246 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


not, however, see Verblioudovitch, he being absent at 
Brighton, therefore I left the same evening for Flushing, 
and after a long and wearisome ride across Germany 
duly arrived at Verjbolovo, one of the principal gates of 
the great Russian Empire. The formalities troubled me 
but little, for I had passed the frontier on several occa- 
sions when stationed in St. Petersburg. After getting 
my passport stamped I strolled up and down the plat- 
form gazing about over the flat, uninteresting country, 
contemplatively smoking a cigarette, and watching the 
crowd of tired, worried travelers experiencing the ways 
of Russian officialdom for the first time. Among them 
was an elderly Russian lady who, traveling with her three 
daughters, good-looking girls, ranging from eighteen to 
twenty-three, had omitted to haye her passport vised by 
a Russian Consul outside the Empire. So stringent were 
the regulations that, although they were subjects of the 
Tzar returning to their own country, the officer would 
not allow them to proceed, and all four were detained 
while the passport was sent back to the nearest Russian 
consul in Germany to be ‘‘treated.” 

At first it had occurred to me to travel on to St. 
Petersburg, and there endeavor to learn from a police 
official of my acquaintance whether Sonia Korolenko had 
been heard of lately, but on reflection I saw that every 
precaution would no doubt be taken by her in order that 
the police should not be made aware of her presence in 
Russian territory. A strange vagary of Fate it seemed 
that through my own action in obtaining for her a false 
passport she had been enabled to escape, and that my 
own endeavors had actually thwarted my own ends. As 
I paced the railway platform, with the brilliant afterglow 
shedding a welcome light across that dead level country 
so zealously guarded by the green-coated sentries in their 
black and white striped boxes, and Cossack pickets, each 
with his “nagaika” stuck in his boots, I remembered with 
failing heart how this woman, whose fame was notorious 
throughout Europe, had told me that once past this por- 
tal of the Tzar’s huge domain all traces of her would be 
obliterated completely. This fact in itself convinced me 
that she had never intended to travel direct to St. Peters- 


DUE EAST. 


247 


burg, and it became impressed upon me that in order to 
trace her it would be necessary to first visit the little out- 
of-the-world town of Skerstymone, that was situated a 
long way to the north along the frontier. With that ob- 
ject I allowed the St. Petersburg express to proceed, and 
after an hour’s wait entered a local train, alighting at a 
small town euphoniously termed Pilwiszki, where I spent 
the night in an exceedingly uncomfortable inn. 

Next day I learnt with satisfaction that this town was 
situated on the main post-road between Maryampol and 
Rossieny, and that about thirty miles due north along 
this road was Skerstymone. The innkeeper, at an ex- 
orbitant figure, provided me with a rickety old cart and 
a pair of shaggy horses, driven by an uncouth-looking 
lad, wearing an old peaked cap so large that his brow 
and eyes were hidden. ’ An hour before noon I set out 
upon my expedition. Our way lay across the bound- 
less Nawa steppe, a plain which stretched away as far as 
the eye could reach without a single tree to break its 
monotony, until at a wretched little village called Katyle 
we forded a shallow stream, the Penta, and presently 
passed through the town of Szaki. Soon afterwards the 
road became full of deep ruts that jolted us terribly, and 
for many miles we traveled through a pine forest until 
at last we found ourselves at the ferry before Skersty- 
mone. 

In the mystic light of evening the place, standing on 
the opposite bank of the Niemen, presented a novel and 
rather picturesque aspect, with its wooden houses, their 
green and brown roofs of painted sheet-iron, but when 
landing from the ferry I was soon undeceived. It was 
one of those towns best seen from a distance. The dirt 
and squalor were horrible. For a fortnight I remained 
at the wretched little inn making inquiries in all quarters, 
but could hear nothing of the pretty dark-eyed girl who 
had earned such unenviable notoriety, and who in Vi- 
enna spent such an enormous sum in a single year that 
her extravagance had become proverbial, even in that 
most reckless of cities. That she had been here was cer- 
tain from what Bingham had told us, and somehow I had 
an instinctive feeling that here the dainty-handed refugee 


248 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


had assumed a fresh identity, it being dangerous for her 
to proceed further into Russia, so well known was she. 
Therefore, with fixed determination, I still prosecuted 
my inquiries everywhere, until I found the police regard- 
ing me with considerable mistrust, for the officers of 
public order are everywhere ubiquitous in the giant em- 
pire of the Tzar. 

The hot July sun shone on the dusty streets; through 
the open windows of the white-washed barrack-like Gov- 
ernment office the scratching of pens could be heard; the 
“factors,” agents who offer their services to strangers, 
lolled in the shade, keeping a watchful eye upon any 
stranger who might happen to pass by, and looking out 
eagerly for a “geschaft,” or stroke of business. The 
townspeople eyed me distrustfully as I wandered aimless- 
ly about the streets, where tumble-down hovels alter- 
nated with endless expanses of gray moss-grown wood 
fences and plots of waste ground heaped with rubbish 
and offal. The place was full of horrible smells, filth, 
rags, and dirty children, who enjoyed themselves by roll- 
ing in the soft white dust. At either end of the noisy, 
evil-smelling place, a post-road led out along the bank 
of the sluggish yellow stream, and at the entrance to the 
town on the German side was a “schlagbaum,” a pole 
painted with the national colors that served as toll-bar, 
in charge of a sleepy invalided soldier in a dingy old uni- 
form with a tarnished eagle on his cap, who looked the 
very incarnation of undisturbed slumber. 

Life in Kovno was by no means diverting. Truly 
Skerstymone was a wretched, half-starved, miserable lit- 
tle place of terribly depressing aspect, notwithstanding 
the brilliant sunshine and blue sky. 

The long, gloomy days dragged by, but no tidings 
could I glean of Sonia Korolenko. It was evident that 
if she had ever been there she had passed under some 
other name, and that her identity had been lost before 
arrival there. 

One warm morning, while seated outside a “kabak” 
moodily watching the old women in the market selling 
their twisted rolls of bread called “kalach, an ill-dressed 
man approached me, and, touching his shabby cap re- 


DUE EAST. 


249 


spectfully, pronounced my name with strong Russian 
accent, at the same time slowly sinking upon the wooden 
bench beside me. He was tall and square-built, with 
coarse but expressive features. His long gray hair was 
matted and unkempt; his low brow, protruding jaws, 
and the constant twitching of his facial muscles reminded 
me of a monkey, but the stern eyes shining from beneath 
a pair of bushy, overhanging brows, spoke of indomi- 
table energy, cleverness, and cunning. They never 
changed; and while the rest of his face was a perfect 
kaleidoscope whenever he spoke, the expression of his 
eyes remained ever the same. 

His confidence surprised me, and I immediately asked 
him how he had ascertained my patronymic, to which he 
replied, not without hesitation, — 

‘T am fully aware of your high nobility’s object in 
visiting Skerstymone. You are seeking Sonia Koro- 
lenko.” 

‘"Yes,” I replied, in the best Russian I could remem- 
ber. ‘^Do you know her whereabouts? If you take me 
to her you shall have a handsome reward.” 

He smiled mysteriously, and glanced so wistfully at 
my vodka that I at once ordered for him a second glass 
of the spirit so beloved of the Muscovite palate. 

“Is your high nobility well acquainted with Sonia?” 

I replied in the affirmative, offering him a cigarette 
from my case. At last I had found one who had met the 
dark-eyed girl of whom I was in search. 

“You know her,” I said. “Where is she?” 

“In hiding.” 

“Far from here?” 

“Well, not very,” he answered. “I could take you to 
her this very night — if you made it worth my while.” 

“Why not in daylight?” I inquired. 

“Because the frontier-guards are here in swarms.” 

Then, in reply to my questions, he admitted that he 
was one of those who obtained his living by smuggling 
contraband goods and persons without passports across 
the frontier into and out of Germany. Along the whole 
of the Russo-German frontier there are bands of peas- 
antry who live by smuggling emigrants, Jews, malefac- 


250 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


tors, and others who have no permit to leave the coun- 
try, across into Germany by certain by-paths that remain 
unguarded, notwithstanding the constant vigilance of 
the military. 

“And what is Sonia doing at present?” I inquired, 
after he had frankly related to me his position in a low 
tone so that we might not be overheard by any eaves- 
dropper or police spy. 

“She has always been a leader,” he answered, laugh- 
ing gayly. “She is so still.” 

“A leader of smugglers!” I exclaimed, surprised that 
the pretty girl who had been admired in every capital in 
Europe should adopt such a hazardous, reckless life. 

“Well, yes, if you choose to call it so,” he said, rather 
resentfully, I thought. “We merely assist our country- 
men to escape the police, and they pay toll for our aid,” 
he added. “She heard you were inquiring ,^or her, here 
in Skerstymone, and has sent me as messenger to take 
you to her. She fears to come herself.” 

I looked steadily at the man, and saw for the first time 
that, although a moujik, he was nevertheless a sturdy ad- 
venturer, whose brow was deeply furrowed by hardship. 

“And you wish me to pay toll like the others?” I ex- 
claimed with a smile. 

“If we act as guide we are surely entitled to some- 
thing. There are many risks,” he answered, puffing at 
his cigarette, afterwards examining it with the air of a 
connoisseur. 

“How much?” 

“The high nobility is rich,” he replied. “He was once 
at the English Embassy in St. Petersburg. Let us say 
two hundred roubles.” 

“Two hundred, to be paid only in Sonia’s presence,” I 
acquiesced eagerly. Truth to tell, I would have paid 
five hundred, or even a thousand for safe conduct to her. 

“It’s a bargain,” he answered, draining his glass. 
“Meet me to-night at ten o’clock at this place. I hope 
you are a good walker, for we must travel by the secret 
paths. The post-road would mean arrest for me; it 
might also go rather hard with you to be found in my 
company.” 


DUE EAST. 


251 


“I can walk well,” I answered. “To-night at ten.” 

Then I ordered more vodka, and after drinking success 
to our midnight journey, he rose and left me, bending a 
good deal as he shuffled along the street in his old frieze 
overcoat many sizes too large for him. 

In any other circumstances I should have looked upon 
this devil-may-care, shock-headed adventurer with grav- 
est suspicion, for his face was of distinctly criminal phys- 
iognomy, and his speech was that of one utterly un- 
scrupulous. Yet when I remembered the allegations that 
Sonia, the woman who lured the young Prince Alexis 
Gazarin to his death, was an associate of the most des- 
perate thieves in Europe, the fact that she had sent him 
as messenger seemed by no means remarkable. From 
what he had told me it was apparent that this girl, whose 
beauty had brought her renown and held her victims 
fascinated, had returned to her own country and become 
leader of a desperate band of nomads who drove a thriv- 
ing trade by guiding fugitives from justice out of the 
Tzar’s dominions, and importing from Germany duti- 
able articles of every description. 

Sonia’s offenses against the law did not, however, 
trouble me much. I only desired to ascertain from her 
the truth regarding my wife, the Grand Duchess, and 
in order to meet her was prepared for any risk. 

Thus I placed myself in the hands of this villainous- 
looking rascal whose name I did not know, and who had 
come to me entirely without credentials. My natural 
caution warned me that from every point of view my 
midnight expedition was fraught with considerable dan- 
ger, yet thoughts of my sad-eyed wife whom I so dearly 
loved aroused within me a determination to ascertain 
some key to the enigma, and I was therefore resolved to 
accompany the unkempt stranger in face of any peril. 


252 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

ON THE FRONTIER. 

The first hour of our walk in the bright balmy night 
proved fresh and pleasant after the stifling malodorous 
town. My unknown guide was, I soon discovered, a 
typical jail-bird, the fact being made plain by the scanty 
growth of hair on one side of his head revealed when he 
inadvertently removed his cap to wipe his brow with his 
dirty hand. His strong knee-boots were well patched, 
but he was out at elbow, and his moustache and matted 
beard sadly wanted trimming. He kept his appointment 
to the moment, and declining my invitation to drink, we 
set off together, ascending the low hill behind the town, 
and taking a circuitous route back to the river bank. By 
no means devoid of a sense of humor, he strode along 
jauntily, laughing, joking, and making light of any 
risk of capture, until I began to regard him with less sus- 
picion. That he was no ordinary moujik was certain, 
for he spoke of life and people in Moscow, in Nijni, and 
even in Petersburg, his conversation showing a more in- 
timate acquaintance than could be acquired by mere 
hearsay. Our way at first was through narrow lanes of 
dirty wooden houses, where the fetid odors of decaying 
refuse greeted our nostrils; then, leaving the town, we 
ascended through some cornfields until, suddenly de- 
scending again, we came to where the Niemen flowed 
onward between its sedgy banks, its placid bosom a sheet 
of silver beneath the light of the full moon. 

Fully three miles we trudged along the post-road be- 
side the river, passing a solitary little hamlet. Not a 
soul stirred, not a dog barked. The place seemed unin- 
habited. Now and then we passed a country cart driven 
by some sleepy peasant who had imbibed too freely of 
vodka, until we came to where a striped verst-post stood 
at the junction of another narrower highway. 


ON THE FRONTIER. 


253 


‘Thafs the road to Jurburg, and to the frontier at 
Postwentg,” my companion remarked, in reply to my 
enquiry. “It’s too dangerous for us.” 

“Why?” 

“It swarms with frontier guards,” he answered, with 
a low laugh. “We have no desire to encounter any of 
these gentlemen this evening, therefore we must pres- 
ently take to the paths. See!” an.d he nodded upward to 
the sky, “The tail of the Great Bear points downwards. 
We shall have luck to-night.” 

“Is this the route you take with the fugitives?” I asked, 
pausing to take breath, and gazing around upon the 
lovely scene, for here the moonlit river flowed among its 
oziers and rushes, across the great grass-covered steppe. 

“Yes,” he answered. “This is the only portion of our 
journey where there are serious risks of detection, so let 
us hurry. On a bright night like this, a man can be seen 
a long way off. The guards are too fond of hiding along 
the banks, fearing that any German boats from Endrus- 
zen may creep up the river.” 

I started forward again, and we both quickened our 
pace. I now saw from his demeanor that he feared an 
encounter, for at each unusual sound he paused, his hand 
uplifted in silence. At last, at a point where the stream 
made a sudden bend, we left the river road and plunged 
into a great marsh, where the reeds grew almost as high 
as ourselves, and where our feet ever and anon sank 
deep into chill, slimy mud. As soon as we had left the 
river, my strange guide became as jovial as before, and 
spoke entirely without restraint. Fear of detection no 
longer troubled him, for as we held on our way over the 
soft clay, the silence of the calm night was now and then 
broken by his coarse laughter. On that flat, marshy 
land, each step became hampered by huge cakes of yel- 
low mud that clung to one’s boots, while often I sank 
with a splash ankle-deep in water, much to my compan- 
ion’s amusement. Whistling softly to himself, he laughed 
at all misfortunes, assuring me that we should very soon 
find drier ground, and that before dawn I should meet 
Sonia Korolenko, who was awaiting me. 

“She is your leader — eh?” I asked. 


254 


WHOSO FINDETH A‘ WIFE. 


“Well, of course,” he answered, with a grim smile. In 
the moonlight he looked a shaggy, evil-faced ruffian, and 
more than once, when I remembered that I had upon me 
a good round sum in notes and gold, I regretted that I 
had trusted myself with him unarmed. “The police drove 
her from Vienna, from Paris, from London; so she has 
come to us.” 

“And is yours a paying profession?” I asked, inter- 
ested. 

“Generally,” he answered, with that frankness that 
characterized all his conversation. “You’d be surprised 
how many people seek our assistance. Some of our 
party are in St. Petersburg, Moscow, and Warsaw, and 
make the contracts with the fugitives; then they hand 
them over to us, and we do the rest.” 

“You guarantee to put them on German soil, or bring 
foreigners into Russia for a fixed sum?” 

“Yes. You would open your eyes if you knew some 
of the people I’ve guided over this very path. Some- 
times it is a Jew peasant who has no permit, and de- 
sires to emigrate to London, or to America; at others, 
an escaped prisoner, a murderer, or a revolutionist, who 
is being tracked down by the Security Section. We 
always know why they are leaving Russia, and make 
them pay accordingly. Not long ago I brought a young 
titled lady across here; accompanied her into Germany, 
and put her into the train for Berlin. We had a narrow 
shave of being captured, but she gave me a thousand 
roubles when we parted.” 

“Why did she want to leave secretly?” I asked. 

“She had poisoned her husband somewhere down in 
Minsk, and the police were in search of her,” he laughed. 
“Never a night passes, but one or other of us cross the 
frontier.” 

“And you find it an adventurous game — eh?” 

“Well, it is pleasant after ten years of Siberia,” he 
answered grimly. “I let loose the red rooster and burned 
down the barin’s house in a village in Tver. He well 
deserved it. I and two friends got away with his money 
and jewels to Moscow, but one night, a week later, I had 


ON THE FRONTIER. 255 

an appointment to meet my companions opposite the 
fountain in the Lubyansky Square, and was arrested.” 

“And you got ten years?” 

“They made out that the barin got burned to death, so 
I was packed off for life to Kara. After ten years I man- 
aged to escape and become a 'cuckoo.’ Then after a year’s 
wandering I succeeded in returning to Moscow, where I 
found one or two old friends, and we started together in 
this business. We don’t intend to fall into the drag-net 
of the police again,” he added with a sardonic grin, at the 
same moment drawing from his trousers pocket a big 
army revolver. 

“Do the frontier guards ever trouble you?” 

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “When we meet we always 
show fight. Three were killed in a brush with some of 
our party not long ago. It will teach them not to inter- 
fere with us for a little time.” 

Long ago I had heard of a gang of desperate charac- 
ters who made the strip of zealously-guarded territory 
between Germany and Russia a terror to travelers, and 
the utter loneliness of the dismal place, and the swagger- 
ing demeanor of my evil-faced companion increased my 
mistrust. 

We left the swamp shortly afterwards, and strode out 
again across the boundless undulating steppe that 
stretched away as far as the eye could reach. The moon 
had sunk lower in the sky, and a whitish cloud appeared 
in the zenith which seemed to shine with a phosphores- 
cent light. Our trackless path wound between low shrubs, 
and then, after another hour’s weary, lonely plodding 
across the grass-covered plain, we came to a clump of 
trees where the underwood was thick and tangled. 

I paused for a moment to gaze behind at the great ex- 
panse of flat, uncultivated, uninhabited country we had 
traversed. A mystery seemed to plane over the bound- 
less steppe. The night wind played among the dry grasses, 
and sad thoughts awakened in my soul. 

Hist! . . . there was h slight rustling! A reddish fur 
gleamed in the moonlight so close to me that I could see 
the ears of a fox and its bushy tail sweeping the ground. 
It disappeared between the trees, and my heart beat faster 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


256 

as together we went forward, bursting through the under- 
wood. The twigs struck me in the face; I stumbled, 
gasped for breath, and halted. The wail of a night bird 
broke the silence. 

At that moment I saw my companion bending at the 
foot of a solitary tree that stood alone amid the tangled 
undergrowth. There was a hole in its trunk from which 
he drew forth something and placed it hastily in his 
pocket. Then, turning towards me, he took out a cigar- 
ette and calmly lit it, saying, — 

“We have nothing now to fear.” 

He allowed the match to burn much longer than was 
absolutely necessary. Instantly the thought flashed upon 
me that this light might be a signal to some of his nefar- 
ious companions. 

But together we went forward again; he jovial and 
amusing, I moody and thoughtful. His actions had 
aroused my suspicions. I glanced at my watch, and in 
the dim light distinguished that it was just past two 
o’clock. We had already been walking four hours. 

Presently, chattering and laughing as we proceeded, we 
left the wide rolling steppe and plunged into a great 
wood. The forest was still as death. The moss-grown fir 
trees stretched out their huge arms as they waved slowly 
to and fro like funeral plumes. Little light penetrated 
there, but now and then we could see the bright stars be- 
tween the branches as we went along a narrow winding 
track, the intricacies of which were apparently well known 
to my guide, for he went onward with the firm, confiden- 
tial tread of one who knew the path, while I followed 
him closely, the dead branches crackling beneath our feet. 

Once or twice a noise fell upon his quick ear, and we 
halted, he standing revolver in hand in an attitude of de- 
fense. Each time, however, we ascertained that we had 
no occasion for alarm, the noise being made by some ani- 
mal or bird startled by our sudden intrusion. Then we 
resumed our midnight journey in single file. 

During half an hour we proceefded, he leading the way, 
directing his footsteps by marks upon the trunks of the 
trees, so near the ground that they would have escaped 


BAD COMPANY. 257 

the notice of any but those who knew of their where- 
abouts. 

Once I thought I detected a dark figure between the 
trees, and fearing that it might be one of the sentries, 
whispered a word of warning to my guide, but he reas- 
sured me by telling me that we were skirting the frontier 
outside guarded territory, therefore there could be no 
danger. Nevertheless, as he turned to me, I thought his 
furrowed face looked darker, and his teeth gleamed whiter 
than usual. 

We walked on. The forest was silent, save for the soft 
whisper of the pines. Without uttering any word I was 
following closely the footsteps of my guide, when sud- 
denly, how it occurred I know not, I was conscious of be- 
ing stopped dead by my evil-faced companion, who, with 
a quick movement, brought up his ready revolver to a 
level with my head. 

Fate had played me an ugly trick. One thought re- 
mained uppermost in the chaos of wild, feverish fancies 
that seized me — the thought of the woman who was my 
wife. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

BAD COMPANY. 

^‘Well,” I managed to ejaculate, standing quite still, 
without moving a muscle. I saw that his attitude was 
one of determination, and that he had been joined by a 
ruffianly-looking companion who had emerged from the 
undergrowth as if by magic. 

My only thought was of my past life. How had I been 
able to bear the suspicion and suspense so long? I had 
borne it because the star of hope had glimmered in the 
darkness. And now the star had vanished, and the hope 
was dead. Darkness had fallen upon my soul, and a 
storm arose within it like the chill whirling wind that 
swept across the steppe at dead of night. I could not 
think ; I forgot where I was, forgot everything except my 
anger. My heart was full of blind despair. 

17 


258 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


I was conscious that the jail-bird spoke. He was de- 
manding my money, and threatening to put a bullet 
through my head if I refused. 

“I promised you money on condition that you took me 
to Sonia Korolenko,” I answered. “I am ready to pay 
when you have fulfilled your part of the contract.” 

Both men laughed heartily. 

“We have no knowledge of her,” declared the man who 
had been my guide. “All we know is that you have 
money; if you don’t hand it to us quietly your grave will 
be in yonder heap of dead leaves.” 

“He’ll be company for the others,” observed the man 
with a fox-like countenance, who had joined us, and was 
leaning upon an old Berdan rifle. 

“Then I understand you have brought me here, to this 
spot, on a false pretense. You mean to rob me?” I said. 
“You assured me that you were Sonia’s messenger, and 
so implicitly did I trust you, that I left my revolver be- 
hind at the inn.” 

“That is no affair of ours,” answered the old scoundrel, 
shrugging his shoulders unconcernedly. “Hand us over 
your money, and we are ready to guarantee you safe con- 
duct, either on into Germany or back to Skerstymone.” 

“I’ll pay you nothing, not even a rouble, na vodkou, 
until you take me to your leader,” I answered defiantly, 
for somehow I had from the first been convinced of the 
truth of the man’s assertion that Sonia was in that neigh- 
borhood. 

“As we are unable to conduct you to the lady, whoever 
she is, we shall therefore be compelled to use violence,” 
observed my guide, glancing at his companion, who 
nodded approvingly. Then, still holding the muzzle of 
his weapon to my face, he added with brutal frankness: 
“You’d better make the sign of the cross now, if you want 
to. It will be the last chance you’ll get. When a man’s 
dead and buried he can tell the police nothing.” 

Well I knew the desperate character of these brigandish 
nomads, and fully recognized that they were not to be 
trifled with. 

“The people who come to us for aid never get across 
the frontier unless they part with their money first,” he 


BAD COMPANY. 


259 


continued. “If they don’t — well, we put them to rest 
quietly and unceremoniously, and give them decent bur- 
ial. A good many of all sorts, rich and poor, lie buried in 
these woods. You asked me whether it was a paying 
profession,” he laughed. “Judge for yourself.” 

He still spoke with that unaffected carelessness that 
had impressed me when we had first met outside the 
dingy little “tractir” in Skerstymone. 

“Come,” cried the ragged, fox-faced man, impatiently, 
with an accent of South Russia. “We have no time to 
waste; we have many versts before us ere dawn.” 

“Then you’d better be off, and leave me to find my way 
back as best I can,” I said, endeavoring to preserve an 
outward show of calmness. 

Some noise, so faint that I did not distinguish it, caused 
both outlaws to hold their breath and listen. They ex- 
changed quick glances. They had wandered thousands 
of versts across the “taiga” and the steppe, and constantly 
on the alert to evade Cossack patrols and police, knew 
every sound of the forest. They had learnt to know the 
voice of the wood; the speech of every tree. The great 
firs rustle with their thick boughs, the dark, gloomy pines 
whisper to one another in mystery, the bright green leafy 
trees wave their dewy branches, and the mountain-ash 
trembles with a noise like a faintly rippling brook. They 
knew, to their disgust, too, how those spies of the frontier, 
the magpies, hover in crowds over the track of the man 
who tries in daylight to creep unseen across the bare open 
steppe. 

It was evident that the noise had for an instant puz- 
zled them; yet, after listening a moment, both became re- 
assured, and re-demanded with many violent threats 
whatever money I had upon me. 

“I tell you I refuse,” I answered. “If you take me to 
Sonia you shall have two hundred roubles each, with 
twenty more na vodkou.” 

“Then you do not wish to live?” exclaimed the man 
who had so cunningly entrapped me. 

“I will give you nothing,” I said resolutely. 

“Then take that!” he cried, wildly, and at the same 
time his revolver flashed close to my face. 


26 o 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


The shot echoed far away among the myriad tree- 
trunks, but the bullet passed harmlessly by my ear. 

Ere he could fire a second time I sprang upon him, and 
clutching him by the throat with one hand, with the other 
grasped thev wrist of the sinewy hand that held the revol- 
ver. It was a struggle for life. 

Again my antagonist drew the trigger, but the weapon 
was exploded in mid-air. Then his companion flung him- 
self upon me in an endeavor to drag me off. This he was 
unable to do, and, apparently, fearing lest I should suc- 
ceed in wresting the weapon from his accomplice’s grasp 
and use it against him, he sought to stun me by raining 
blows with his clenched fist upon my head. 

A third time the ruffianly assassin’s revolver went off 
with loud report, but doing no harm. At that moment, 
however, I was conscious that my strength was failing me. 
I was muscular, but against this pair of hulking brutes I 
had no chance in a contest of mere physical power. 

The repeated blows upon my skull dazed me, but hear- 
ing shouts resounding in the darkness, I held on with 
grim, dogged courage, with the faint hope that they 
might be Cossacks. In the dim light I could distinguish 
figures moving rapidly beneath the trees. The forest 
seemed suddenly alive with men, but at that instant the 
fox-faced ruffian, finding his efforts unavailing, stepped 
back a pace or two, and lowering his rifle, took deliberate 
aim at my breast. 

I closed my eyes tightly and held my breath. 

A shout rang out, followed by a burst of wild shouting, 
but finding myself unharmed, I opened my eyes again. 
In terror I glanced up, and saw my fox-faced assailant 
lying face downward. The cowardly villain had evidently 
been shot at the very instant he had covered me with his 
Berdan. 

Half-a-dozen men sprang forward, and wrenching the 
revolver from the scoundrel who had attempted to take 
*my life, seized him in their strong grasp, while I, breath- 
less and exhausted, struggled up from my knees, amazed 
at my sudden and unexpected delivery. 

Some twenty men, an ill-dressed, ruffianly crowd, in 
patched cloaks and dirty gray caps covering their long 


BAD COMPANY 


261 


hair, surrounded me, talking excitedly, bestowing oppro- 
brious epithets upon the man who lay wounded and 
groaning, and as I turned suddenly in wonder, I was con- 
fronted by a peasant woman in a short skirt of some dark 
stuff, an ill-fitting striped bodice, with a handkerchief tied 
about her head. 

She uttered my name. In an instant I recognized her. 
It was Sonia. 

“I arrived only just in time to save you,” she explained, 
half breathlessly, in English. “The shots attracted us. 
That villain, Stepanovitch, whom I sent into Skersty- 
mone to bring you here, no doubt intended to take your 
money and decamp, but, fortunately, we caught him red- 
handed. He has long been suspected of doing away with 
people entrusted to his care for conduct across the fron- 
tier, but I never believed him capable of treating any of 
our friends as victims.” 

“He fired at me point blank,” I said, “although I was 
unarmed.” 

“What shall we do with him, little mother?” cried the 
excited crowd of burly malefactors, dragging the man be- 
fore the notorious woman, with pleasant countenance, 
sonorous voice, and lively manners, whom they acknowl- 
edged as leader. 

“Tie him up to yonder tree and let him be shot,” an- 
swered Sonia, pointing out a lofty pine. “Pick a marks- 
man from among yourselves, and do not shout so loudly. 
Only one shot must be fired, for I believe the guards are 
lurking about to-night, and more may attract them.” 

With yells of execration the crowd hurried away the 
unfortunate wretch who had so treacherously treated the 
friend of their leader, and ere a couple of minutes had 
elapsed he had been secured to the tree. Then they com- 
menced haggling among themselves as to who should fire 
the fatal shot. It was a weird scene, this summary jus- 
tice directed by a woman. The choice fell at last upon 
a tall hulking fellow in a ragged coat and a hat of dirty 
sheepskin, who, addressed by the nickname of “The 
Goat,” on account of the shape of his beard, lifted his gun 
with a jeering remark at the cowering wretch, and 
stepped back to take more deliberate aim. 


262 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


'‘No,” I cried, “don't let him be shot on my account, 
Sonia. Give him his life.” 

She shook her head, saying simply: “He betrayed my 
trust.” 

“I ask you to forgive him,” I urged. “At least grant 
me this favor.” 

She was undecided, and the outlaws hearing us speak in 
English, called to their tall champion to stay his hand. 

“Very well,” she said, at last. “I forgive him because 
you plead.” 

Without a word I pushed past the men surrounding us, 
and, taking out my pocket-knife, severed the cord hold- 
ing the terrified wretch. The old scoundrel, dropping 
upon his knee, kissed my hand amid the loud jeers of his 
rough, brutal companions, then regaining his feet, took 
off his cap, and looking towards heaven, made the sign of 
the cross. 

“This, I hope, will be a lesson, Stepanovitch,” ex- 
claimed Sonia, sternly, in Russian, advancing towards 
him. “I forgive you only because of the request of this 
Englishman. Remember in future that the person of 
any friend of mine, or any of our brothers, is sacred.” 

“Yes, I will, matoushka,” answered the old villain, 
penitently. “That I will. I owe my life to his high no- 
bility's intercession. I will not again offend, little 
mother.” 

“Very well,” she answered, abruptly; then, briefly ex- 
plaining how they had just returned from a hazardous trip 
across the frontier, during which they were detected and 
followed by a Cossick picket, she gave the order to return 
home, and we moved forward in single file along the 
narrow secret paths which wound with so many intrica- 
cies through the dark, gloomy forest. As I walked be- 
hind her we chatted in English, she telling me how she 
had been compelled to leave London unexpectedly, and 
relating how she had fared since we had last met. She, 
however, made no mention of the nefarious trade she had 
adopted, and I hesitated to refer to it. 

When at length we emerged from the forest, the woun- 
ded man being assisted along by his companions, 
it was near morning. The darkness had gradually be- 


BAD COMPANY. 


263 

come less intense, the stars shone more faintly, and a 
streak of dawn showed on the far-off horizon. The pale 
light revealed grassy plains as far as the eye could reach, 
and the fresh morning breeze swept softly over the thick, 
green grass that promised an abundant hay crop, such as 
the dwellers on the broad Kovono plains had longed for 
for many years. Soon after leaving the forest, however, 
the party separated, arranging as meeting-place, when the 
moon rose on the morrow, the third verst-post out of 
Wezajce, a small village five miles distant. All her asso- 
ciates, Sonia explained, lived in villages in the vicinity, 
scattering themselves in order to avoid detection by the 
authorities. The villagers themselves, although well 
aware of their doings, said nothing. To all inquiries by 
Cossack frontier-guards or police spies they remained 
dumb, for the simple reason that while contraband trade 
could be transacted the village thrived, each of these 
small, wretched little places receiving indirectly a portion 
of the outlaws’ profit. In summer there were no empty 
barns or thistle-grown threshing floors, and in winter the 
stoves in the huts were always burning, and the 
“bosrtch,” or soup, was never without its proper propor- 
tion of buck-wheat gruel. 

Many were the rumors of missing travelers and violent 
deaths in that neighborhood, but the villagers feared 
nothing from this adventurous gang, who had grown 
more bold now that they were led by their “little mother.” 
From what I gathered from my fair companion as we 
pushed forward together towards the dim line of trees 
that bounded the steppe in the direction of the sunrise, it 
appeared that the band had been in existence for several 
years, but that a few months before, the leader, a well- 
known escaped convict, was shot dead by a picket while 
creeping by day across the Zury steppe, and that a pro- 
posal had been sent to her at Skerstymone, where she was 
hiding, that she should become their head. She admitted, 
with a smile, that the men who had just left us to return 
to their various occupations were all of bad character, and 
that, almost without exception, all had served long terms 
of imprisonment for robbery or murder. 

“But is not the assassination of those who have paid for 


264 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


guidance into Germany quite unjustifiable?” I exclaimed, 
reproachfully, as we walked side by side across the long, 
dewy grass. 

“How can I prevent it!” she asked. “I do all I can to 
preserve the lives of our clients, but with men of their 
stamp it is impossible to stop it. Nearly every one of the 
brotherhood would slit a throat with as little compunction 
as lighting his cigarette; first, because it avoids the risk of 
crossing the boundary, and secondly, because of the 
money the victim has in his pockets. Again, persons who 
accept our escort are not those persons after whom any 
inquiry is made. When they are missed, their friends 
naturally conclude they’ve fallen into the hands of the 
police, or have escaped abroad and fear to write. Step- 
anovitch, for instance, does not obtain the rolls of notes 
he sometimes has by importing contraband goods, neither 
could he afford to keep a snug house down in Ludwinow, 
where he spends the winter, and is regarded as a highly 
respectable member of the Mir.” 

“He is an assassin, then?” 

Sonia smiled and shrugged her shoulders. 

We were approaching a small village with a back- 
ground of high pine trees, situated on the edge of the 
great treeless plain. Its name was Sokolini, she told me. 
Once, in the days of serfdom, it had been the property of 
a landowner, but now, enjoying liberty, its emancipation 
was attested by its half-ruined huts, whose bulging walls 
and smoke-blackened timbers were supported by wooden 
props. There were not more than thirty houses, all of a 
similarly squalid, miserable character, and as we entered 
the tiny place the cocks were crowing in the yards, for the 
sun had by this time fully risen. 

“Five miles through yonder forest as the crow flies 
brings us into German territory,” she said, indicating the 
dense wood behind the houses, then pausing before the 
door of one of the tumble-down huts, pushed it open, and 
invited me to enter. 

The interior was one square room, with huge brick 
stove, the flat top of which served as bed in winter, a low 
sloping ceiling and two small windows with uneven panes 
of greenish glass that imparted to the rays of light a mel- 


BAD COMPANY. 


265 

ancholy grayish tint. The bare miserable place was 
poorly furnished with wooden chairs, a rickety table, and 
a very old moth-eaten sofa covered with velvet that was 
once red, but now of faded brown. Over the door was 
nailed a cheap, gaudy ikon, and on the opposite wall was 
pasted a crude woodcut of his Majesty the Tzar. 

The room was, indeed, in strange contrast to the dainty 
little drawing-room in Pembroke Road. 

While I threw myself into a chair, worn out by fatigue, 
she removed the ugly wrapper from her head, and dis- 
appearing into a little inner den, the only other room in 
the house, soon reappeared with a steaming samovar, 
afterwards handing me tea with lemon. 

The pale yellow sun struggling in through the thick 
green panes, fell in slanting rays across the carpetless 
room, and as we sat opposite one another sipping our 
cups we exchanged curious glances. Ours had, indeed, 
been a strange meeting. 

She burst out laughing at last. 

“Well,” she said, ‘T see you are surprised.” 

“I am. I did not expect you had exchanged your life 
in London for this,” I exclaimed. 

“Ah! I was horribly tired of inactivity there. I had 
spent all my money, and could do nothing in your coun- 
try. It is a drawback to be too well known,” she laughed. 

“But surely this life is attended by very serious risks,” 
I observed, noticing, as the sunlight fell across her hair, 
that she was still as handsome as ever, notwithstanding 
her ugly peasant costume and clumsy boots. 

“Yes,” she answered reflectively. “Perhaps, in a little 
while, when I have made more money I shall leave here 
and return to London. One cannot live without money.” 

“True,” I answered. “Yet life here must be terribly 
dull and monotonous after Vienna and Paris.” 

“Ah!” she cried, with the slightest suspicion of a sigh. 
“All that I have forgotten long, long ago.” 

Her eyes were downcast, and I thought I detected tears 
in them. I gazed at her, this woman who was known in 
nearly every capital in Europe as one of the most daring 
and enterprising adventuresses of the century, half-fear- 
ing that she might still refuse to disclose her secret, 


266 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

OUTCAST. 

She moved slightly, raised her cup to her lips with a 
coquettish air, and on setting it down her dark bright eyes 
again met mine with inquiring glance. 

“Well,” she exclaimed. “Is it not strange that you, of 
all men, should be in Skerstymone?” 

“I came to see you,” I said, looking earnestly into her 
pretty face. 

“For what reason?” 

“Because by your aid alone can I regain my lost happi- 
ness,” I answered in deep earnestness. “Once, before 
you left London, you made certain allegations against 
Ella; but you failed to substantiate them, or to fulfil your 
promise in exchange for your passport.” 

“Yes, I remember.” 

“She is now my wife, and I have come to hear the 
truth from your own lips, Sonia.” 

“Your wife!” she gasped, glaring at me. “Has — has 
she actually dared to marry you?” 

“Yes,” I answered. “She has dared, because she loves 
me. 

She remained silent, with knit brows, for a long time 
engrossed in thought. 

Then briefly I told her how, after her departure, we had 
married, and related how suspicion had been aroused 
within me by her clandestine meetings with Cecil Bing- 
ham, her flight, and my subsequent discovery of her true 
position. 

“Then you are aware who she really is,” she observed 
slowly at last. “That she has dared to enter into a matri- 
monial alliance with you is certainly astounding. Indeed, 
it is incredible.” 

“Why?” I inquired in surprise. 


OUTCAST. 267 

“There are the strongest reasons why she should never 
have become your wife,” she replied ambiguously. 

“She lives apart from me. She has returned to her 
house in Paris,” I said. 

“Ah! it is best,” she answered mechanically. “It is 
best for both of you.” 

“But we love one another, and although she fears to tell 
me the truth regarding all this mystery that has enveloped 
her for so long, you, nevertheless, are in a position to ex- 
plain everything. Therefore I have come to you. You 
were my wife’s friend, Sonia,” I went on. “Tell me why 
she has acted with all this secrecy.” 

“Her friend,” she echoed blankly. “Yes, you are 
right,” she sighed. “It was a strange friendship, ours; 
she, a Grand Duchess against whom never a word of scan- 
dal had been uttered, and I — well, I was notorious. The 
people in Vienna and Paris pointed at me in the streets, 
and fashionable women copied my manners and my dress. 
Yet there was, nay there still is a strong tie between us, a 
tie that can never be severed.” 

“Tell me of it,” I urged, when, pausing, she turned her 
pale agitated face away from me towards the small grimy 
window that overlooked the great sunlit steppe. 

“Once I believed that she was your enemy, and told 
you so. I feared that because of her position she would 
never marry you. Yet it seems she was really in earnest, 
therefore I now withdraw that allegation. She evidently 
loves you.” 

“Yes, but we are living apart because she fears the 
revelation of some terrible secret if she acknowledges me 
as her husband.” 

“And that is why you have come here — ^to learn of her 
past!” she cried in a hoarse hollow voice, as if the truth 
had suddenly dawned upon her. 

I nodded gravely in the affirmative, then told her of our 
meeting in Paris, and her refusal to make any satisfactory 
explanation. 

“I envied Elizaveta once,” she said reflectively at last. 
“I envied her because she was so supremely happy in 
your love. Yet it now seems as if I, degraded outcast 
that I am, have even more happiness and freedom.” 


268 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


“You were once her friend — she visited you every day. 
You can be her friend now; and by telling me the truth, 
bring joy and confidence to both of us. You can make 
our lives happy, if you only will.” 

“No,” she answered coldly, her face hard and set. There 
was a cruel look in her eyes. “Why should I? Why 
should I strive for the happiness of one to whom I owe all 
my grief and despair?” 

“Surely no misfortune of yours is due to her?” I pro- 
tested quickly. 

“Misfortune!” she wailed, her eyes flashing. “Would 
you not call the loss of the man you love, misfortune?” 
Then, in quieter tones, she added with a sigh, “Ah, you 
don’t know, Geoffrey, how intensely bitter my strange, 
adventurous life has been. You believe, no doubt, that 
a woman of my character cannot love. Well, I thought 
so once. But I tell you that in London I loved one man ; 
the only man I ever met that I could marry. I had re- 
nounced my past, and sought to lead a new life when I 
knew that he cared for me, and was preparing to make 
me his wife. But she, the Grand Duchess who tricked 
you so cleverly, came between us, and we were parted. 
Then I came here, to Russia, sought solace among my 
former companions, the scum of the jails and ghettos, 
and have now descended in despair to what I am. By 
her, the woman you ask me to free from a terrible thral- 
dom,! have been thrust back into hopelessness, and have 
lost for ever the once chance I had of joy and love.” 

Then, covering her handsome face with her hands, she 
burst into a torrent of tears. 

“Come,” I said, rising, and stroking her soft, silky hair. 
Her arms were upon the table, and she had buried her 
head in them, sobbing as if her heart would break. 
“Come, do not give way,” I urged. “Who was the man 
you loved?” 

“That concerns no one but myself,” she murmured. 
“Even she ha^ never had proof that we loved one another. 
Yet to her is due all this grief that has fallen upon me.” 

Raising her head, she strove to suppress her emotion, 
and her brilliant tear-bedewed eyes fixed themselves 
steadily upon mine. 


OUTCAST. 269 

‘T may perhaps be able to assist you,” I said. “I did 
on a former occasion.” 

“No,” she answered, in a voice of intense sorrow. “I 
have now grown careless of myself, careless of life, care- 
less of everything since I left London. With the man I 
loved so truly I could have been happy always, yet she 
knew my past, and would allow me no chance to redeem 
myself. It is but what I deserve, I suppose, therefore I 
must suffer. But can you wonder that, hating the world 
as I do, I entertain a certain grim satisfaction in being 
leader of this ragged, ruffianly band of frontier free- 
lances?” 

“No,” I answered, echoing her sigh; “I am scarcely 
surprised, yet I cannot think that my wife, who was your 
friend, would willingly serve you as you believe.” 

“She did,” Sonia answered, again raising her sad, dark 
eyes. “She alone I have to thank for the sorrow that has 
wrecked my life.” 

“What was the name of the man you loved?” I asked. 
“Do I know him?” 

“Yes, you know him; but his name is of no conse- 
quence,” she answered evasively, in a faint voice, lower- 
ing her eyes. “My secret is best kept in my own heart.” 

“If my wife did it unintentionally, without knowing 
you were lovers, there is some excuse,” I said, half apol- 
ogetically. 

“No,” she answered, with sudden harshness. “No 
excuse is possible. There were other circumstances 
which rendered her conduct unpardonable.” 

“I really can’t believe it,” I said. “I feel certain that 
she would never have exposed you willingly.” 

“Alas!” she said at last, “the evil is now done, and the 
stigma cannot be removed. But you asked me to reveal 
certain facts that would place her mind at rest, restore 
her confidence, and give her freedom. I have told you. 
I have made a confession to you that no other person 
has had from my lips.” 

“Ah, do not be pitiless,” I cried imploringly, feeling 
assured that she alone knew the truth. Her assertion 
that she could restore my wife to freedom meant, I knew, 
the removal of that dark cloud of suspicion and dread 


270 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


that, overshadowing her, held her spell-bound by fear. 
“Think,” I urged, standing close to her, my hand resting 
upon the bare, unpolished table. “Once when you came 
to me, a stranger, and I rendered you a service, you prom- 
ised to perform one for me in return when I desired it. 
I am now sorely in need of your friendship, and have 
come to you for aid.” 

“We shall be friends always, I hope, Geoffrey,” she 
answered quietly, pushing back her dark hair from her 
brow. Her head was untidy and her hair tangled, for so 
callous had she grown that she took no heed either of at- 
tire or personal appearance. 

“Then you will, at least, fulfil your promise,” I said. 

“No,” she replied, with dogged firmness. “In this 
matter I absolutely refuse. I know how weary and 
wretched your life must be, with mystery surrounding 
you as it does, and being compelled to live apart from the 
woman you love; but, frankly, the fact that her cold, 
proud Highness fears to acknowledge you, or tell you the 
truth, is a source of satisfaction to me. She has sown 
dissension, and is now reaping her harvest of tears.” 

The cankerworm of care was eating out my heart, and 
I resoved to make one final appeal to her better nature, 
albeit I saw from her demeanor how embittered she was 
against Ella. 

“No effort have I left unattempted to seek some solu- 
tion of the problem,” I said. “Yet all is unavailing. I 
have sought the truth from Cecil Bingham, but he re- 
fused to utter one word, and referred me to you. He 
said you knew all.” 

“Cecil Bingham!” she cried, suddenly starting. “Do 
you know him? He was your wife’s friend.” 

“Yes,” I answered. “I know that, although I am un- 
aware of the true character of their relationship.” 

“Ah!” she ejaculated, and I thought she winced be- 
neath my words. “He sent you here?” 

“Yes,” I said. “But before seeing him I had endeav- 
ored to obtain some facts from another of Ella’s acquain- 
tances, Andrew Beck.” 

“Andrew Beck?” she repeated in a low, hollow voice, 
her brows contracting as if mention of his name were un- 


OUTCAST. 


271 


pleasant to her ears. '‘You were jealous of him once,” 
she added in a hard, dry tone. 

“Yes,” I smiled. “But I am so no longer.” 

“Why? I thought from what Ella told me long ago 
that you had some cause. He certainly was one of her 
admirers.” 

“Yes. But he’s about to be married.” 

“Married!” she cried wildly, starting to her feet, her 
lips moving convulsively. “Andrew Beck?” 

I nodded, for a moment surprised; but, suddenly re- 
membering, I took from my pocket-book the newspaper 
cutting announcing the engagement. 

Eagerly her strained eyes read the three formal lines of 
print, then hastily crushing the piece of paper in her hand 
she cast it from her with a gesture of anger. Her face 
was pale and determined, her thin hands, no longer loaded 
with rings as they once had been, twitched nervously, and 
I could plainly see the strange convulsion that the unex- 
pected intelligence had caused within her. 

“Do you know the — the girl who is to be his wife?” 
she stammered presently. 

“No, we have never met,” I answered. “His marriage 
does not, however, concern us for the moment. It is of 
Ella and her strange secret that I seek knowledge. Tell 
me the truth, Sonia, so that I may be able to place within 
her hand a weapon wherewith to combat this mysterious 
enemy she fears.” 

There was a long pause. Her breath came and went 
quickly in hot, convulsive gasps. Her hands were so 
tightly clenched that their nails were driven into the 
palms; her mouth was firmly set, and in her eyes was a 
cold, stony stare. The knowledge of Beck’s intended 
marriage had aroused within her a veritable tumult of 
passion. 

“The truth!” she cried hoarsely at last, her hand upon 
her throbbing breast. “You ask me to clear suspicion 
from the woman whose whim it has been to marry you 
and I refuse, because I should bring her happiness, and 
remove from her the terror that now holds her enthralled. 
But I have reconsidered my decision. I — ” 


2/2 WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 

'‘Ah, tell me!’’ I exclaimed, interrupting her in my 
eagerness. 

“I will speak because my disclosures, remarkable 
though they may be, will not only bring peace to you and 
your wife, but will also prove a trifle disconcerting to her 
companions. Once they hunted me from town to town 
as a criminal; they will now beg to me for mercy upon 
their knees.” 

“Tell me. Do not conceal the truth longer,” I cried 
anxiously. 

“No. Only in Elizaveta’s presence will I speak,” she 
answered, in a strained voice quivering with violent emo- 
tion. “Let us start for Paris to-night. When the moon 
rises I will guide you through the forest into Germany; 
we can cross the Jura by the bridge beyond Absteinen, 
and from Tilsit take train to Berlin. In two days we can 
be in Paris. Take me to her,” she said with sudden 
eagerness, “and you shall both learn facts that will as- 
tound you.” 

“I am quite ready,” I said; “I knew you alone would 
prove my friend.” 

“No,” she answered, regarding me gravely. “No, 
Geoffrey. It is a secret full of grim realities and ugly 
revelations, which, when disclosed, will, I fear, cause you 
to hate me, and count me among your enemies. But you 
seek the truth; you shall therefore be satisfied.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

CONFESSION. 

“Her Highness has this moment returned from driving, 
m’sieur,” answered the big Russian concierge, when, ac- 
companied by Sonia, I entered the hall of the great house 
in the Avenue des Champs Elysees, and handed him a 
card. 

Then a second servant, in the blue-and-gold livery of 
the Romanoffs, conducted us ceremoniously along the 
wide, soft-carpeted corridor to the well-remembered room 
wherein I had taken leave of the woman I loved. My 


CONFESSION. 


273 


companion, in her neat, tailor-made traveling gown of 
dark gray cloth, looked a very different person to the 
dirty, unkempt peasant woman who led that band of des- 
perate jail -birds on the frontier, and as she glanced 
around the fine apartment on entering, she observed, with 
a slight sigh, that this was not her first visit. 

The afternoon was breathless. All Paris had left for 
the plages of Arcachon, Dieppe or Trouville, or the baths 
of Royat, Vichy or Luchon, and the boulevards were 
given over to unhappy business men, cafe loungers, and 
soft-hatted, gaping tourists in check tweeds. The green 
jalousies of the room were closed, the senses were suf- 
fused with a tender and restful twilight, for the glare had 
been tempered to suit the dreamy languor of that great 
mansion’s world-weary mistress. The open windows ad- 
mitted, with air, the faint sound of traffic from the Ave- 
nue. A lad passing somewhere outside whistled a few 
bars from the gay chansonette, “Si qu’on leur-z-y, f’rait 
9a,” which Judic was singing nightly with enormous suc- 
cess at the Summer Alcazar. I noticed that upon the 
piano there still stood my own photograph, while that of 
my betrayer had been replaced by a picture of my wife. 

With my back to the great tiled hearth, filled with ferns 
and flowers, and surrounded by its wonderful mantel of 
Italian sculptured marble, I waited, while Sonia, fatigued 
after our long and dusty journey, sank into one of the 
silken arm-chairs, unloosened her coat, and sniffed at her 
little silver bottle of srnelling-salts. Scarce a word had 
she uttered during our drive across the city from the Gare 
de Lyon, so full she seemed of unutterable sadness. 

During several minutes we remained in silence, when, 
without warning, the long doors of white-and-gold were 
flung open by the flunkey who, advancing into the room, 
announced his mistress. 

Next instant we were face to face. 

“Ah! Geoffrey. At last!” she cried, with flushed 
cheeks, a smile of glad welcome lighting up her pale coun- 
tenance as she rushed towards me with both hands out- 
stretched. A second later, noticing Sonia, she suddenly 
halted. Instantly a change passed over her face. She 
was unlike the gay, light-hearted girl who loved to idle 
18 


274 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


up the quiet Thames backwaters, or punt along the banks 
at sundown. She was different from the happy, trustful 
bride who had wandered with me during those autumn 
days in quaint old Chateauroux. She had none of the 
flush of joyous youth, and the harder lines of resolve and 
determination were softened by an expression for which 
there is no better word than consecration. There were 
signs of endurance in her face, but it was the endurance 
of the martyr, not of the champion. 

Facing Sonia, she drew herself up haughtily, and de- 
manded in French, in a harsh, angry voice, — 

“To what, pray, do I owe this intrusion? I should 
have thought that after what has passed you would not 
dare to come here. But I suppose cool audacity is a 
characteristic which must be cultivated by a woman of 
your character.” 

Sonia rose slowly from her chair, her features haggard 
and blanched, her head bent slightly, as if in penitence. 
No effort did she make to resent the bitter, angry words 
my wife had uttered, but in a low tone simply replied, — 

“I have come here with Geoffrey, to tell you the truth.” 

“The truth!” echoed the Grand Duchess, with wither- 
ing contempt. “The truth from such as you! Who 
would believe it?” 

“Wait! Hear me before you denounce me,” Sonia 
urged, in a strange, hollow voice, that sounded like one 
speaking in the far distance. “I do not deny that my 
presence may seem unwarrantable. I admit that between 
us there can no longer be friendship, yet strange it is that, 
although you are honest, upright and respected, while I 
am a social outcast, spurned and degraded by all, there 
nevertheless exists a common bond between us — the 
bond of love. You love Geoffrey, the man who by law is 
your husband ; while I love another, a man you also 
know;” and her voice faltered, “the man to whom you 
denounced me as base and worthless.” 

“Well?” asked Ella, standing stern, upright, full of 
calm, unruffled dignity. She still wore the cool-looking 
summer gown in which she had been driving in the Bois 
and had not removed her large black hat with its long 
ostrich plumes. 


CONFESSION. 


m 


“You are quite right, quite right,” Sonia admitted in a 
voice trembling with emotion. “You were justified to 
undeceive him as you did. I know, alas! how black is 
my heart — how blunted is all the womanly feeling I once 
possessed, like you. But you have been nurtured in the 
lap of luxury, while I, fed from infancy upon the offal of a 
slum, and taught to regard the world from a cynical point 
of view, have grown old in evil-doing, and am now a 
mere derelict in the stream oj life. Long ago we met, 
and parted. I treated you, as I did others, as an enemy. 
We have now met again, and I, conscience-stricken and 
penitent, have come to atone for the past — to prove your 
friend, to beg forgiveness.” 

My wife shrugged her shoulders with a gesture of quick 
impatience. 

“Ah! You don’t believe I am in earnest,” cried the 
unhappy woman. “Has it never occurred to you that I 
alone can free you from the bond that has held you aloof 
from your husband?” 

“What do you mean?” cried Ella, with a puzzled ex- 
pression. 

“I mean,” she answered, in a deep, earnest voice. “I 
mean that if you will make full and open confession to 
Geoffrey I will furnish you with proof positive of the 
identity of the murderer of Dudley Ogle. By this means 
only can you obtain freedom from your bondage of guilt.” 

“My freedom!” echoed my wife. She was pale as 
death; her hot, dry lips moved convulsively, and she 
glanced at me in feverish apprehension. “How can you 
give me my freedom?” 

“By revealing the truth,” Sonia answered. “When you 
have told Geoffrey all, then will I disclose the terrible se- 
cret that I have selfishly kept from you because I envied 
you your happiness.” 

The silence remained unbroken for some moments. 
Ella stood with her gloved hands clasped before her. The 
haughty demeanor of the daughter of the Romanoffs had 
entirely forsaken her; with head bent she stood immov- 
able as a statue. Terror and despair showed themselves 
in her clear, bright eyes. It seemed as though she mis- 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


276 

trusted this woman of evil repute, whose assertions half 
induced her to confess to me. 

“Come,” Sonia said, “speak, and freedom, love and 
happiness are yours.” 

Her breast, beneath its lace and flimsy muslin, heaved 
and fell. Her fingers hitched themselves nervously in the 
trimming of her gown. Then, at last, with sudden resolve, 
she turned, and with terror-stricken eyes fixed upon me, 
said in English, in low, faltering tone, — 

“To confess to you, Geoffrey, will cause you to hate, 
ah! even to curse me. After to-day I fear we shall part 
never again to meet.” 

“No, no,” I cried, advancing to take her soft hand in 
mine. “Tell me your secret. Then let us hear what 
Sonia has to reveal.” 

“Ah! mine is a wretched, horrible story of duplicity,” 
my wife faltered, standing in an attitude of deep dejection. 
“Although I am a Grand Duchess, the bearer of an Im- 
perial name, I can hope for neither pity nor mercy from 
you, nor from the world outside.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I have foully deceived you. I am a spy!” 

“A spy!” I gasped, amazed. “What do you mean?” 

“Listen; I will tell you,” she answered, in a hard, 
strained voice, swaying slowly forward and clutching at 
the table for support. “Three years ago, when my mother, 
the Grand Duchess Nicholas, was still alive, we were 
spending some months as usual at our winter villa that 
faced the Mediterranean at St. Eugene, close to Algiers, 
and my mother engaged as valet de chambre an English- 
man. Soon this man grew, I suppose, to admire me. He 
pestered me with hateful attentions, and at last had the 
audacity to declare his love. As may be readily imag- 
ined, I scornfully rejected him, treated him with con- 
tempt, and finding that he still continued his protestations, 
meeting me when I went for walks along the sea-road to 
Algiers, or under the palms and orange groves in the 
Jardin Marengo, I one day in a fit of ill-temper, disclosed 
to my mother the whole of the circumstances. The fel- 
low was at once discharged, but before he left for Europe 
he wrote me a letter full of bitter reproach, and expressed 


' THE THRALL. 


277 


his determination to some day wreak vengeance upon me 
as well as upon a young Englishman whom he suspected 
that I loved. His suspicions, however, were entirely un- 
founded. I, known at home and throughout all our 
family by the pet name of Tcherno-okaya,’ or Spark- 
ling Eyes,’ a nickname taken from our Russian poet 
Lermontoff, had met this young Englishman quite cas- 
ually, when one day, while passing through the Kasbah, 
I was insulted by two half-drunken Arabs, and he escorted 
me home. Then, when we parted, he told me that he was 
staying at the Hotel de la Regence, opposite the great 
white mosque, and gave me his name. It was Dudley 
Ogle.” 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE THRALL. 

“Dudley Ogle!” I echoed in blank amazement. “Are 
you certain that the servant’s suspicions were devoid of 
foundation?” 

“Absolutely,” she answered in quick breathlessness. 
“In those days I was supercilious and disdainful, being 
taught to regard my dignity as Grand Duchess with 
too great a conceit to make a mesalliance. My mother 
used constantly to urge that in the marriages con- 
tracted by members of our fanlily love was not absolutely 
necessary — position was everything. Well, the months 
went by. We left Algiers, returned to St. Petersburg, and 
soon afterwards my mother died, leaving me alone. I 
found myself possessor of great wealth, and when, after a 
period of mourning, I reappeared in society, I was court- 
ed and flattered by all sorts and conditions of men. In 
a year I grew tired of it all and longed to return to Eng- 
land, the land wherein I had spent many years of my 
youth; therefore I engaged a woman to pose as my 
mother, and dropping my title, went to London and lived 
there as Ella Laing. Then I met you,” and she paused, 
looking earnestly into my face with her deep blue eyes. 
To me she had embodied everything that was fair, hon- 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


278 

orable, and pure, yet I had dreaded some sinister peril 
from an unknown source. 

“And we loved each other,” I said simply. 

“Yes,” she went on fervently. “But from the first I 
was fettered, being unable to act as my heart prompted. 
I loved you fondly, and knew you wished to make me 
your wife, yet I dared not to risk such a step without the 
permission of our House. I went to St. Petersburg, ex- 
plained who and what you were, and craved leave to 
marry you. A family council was held, but the sugges- 
tion was unanimously denounced as a piece of senti- 
mental folly. Ah, shall I ever forget that night? I pleaded 
to them upon my knees to let me obtain happiness in 
your love, but they were inexorable and refused. At 
length, when in a moment of despair I threatened that if 
shut out from love by the barrier of birth I would end my 
life, a suggestion was made — a horrible, infamous one, 
prompted by Makaroff, Minister of the Household. Yet 
I was ready to commit any act, to do anything in order 
to secure happiness with you. Permission was given me 
to marry you on condition that I entered the Secret Ser- 
vice as spy. I appealed personally to the Tzar, but in 
vain. You were in the Earl of Warnham’s confidence, 
and it was seen that from you I could obtain information 
which would be of greatest utility to our Foreign Depart- 
ment.” 

“So you accepted,” I said sternly. 

“Yes. I accepted their abominable conditions because 
I loved you so well, Geoffrey,” she said gloomily, her 
trembling hand upon my shoulder. “It was not my 
fault, indeed it wasn’t. If I had known what was to fol- 
low I would have killed myself rather than bring about all 
the trouble and disaster for which I became responsible.” 

“No,” I said, “don’t speak like that.” 

“I would,” she declared despairingly. “What followed 
was a dark, mysterious tragedy, while all the time I knew 
that you must suspect — that, after all, you might forsake 
me. Within a week after binding myself irrevocably to 
the Tzar’s army of spies I made a discovery that held me 
appalled. I found that my master, the man to whose will 
I was compelled to submit, was none other than our dis- 


THE THRALL. 


279 


charged valet de chambre — the man who two years before 
had declared his love. At the time my mother had en- 
gaged him he was already in the Secret Service, and had 
no doubt kept watch upon us. He came to me at ‘The 
Nook,’ and, exulting in the fact that I had become his 
puppet, renewed his protestations of affection. When, 
frankly, I told him that I hated him and loved only you, 
he at once informed me, with a grin of satisfaction, that 
the department in St. Petersburg found it compulsory to 
obtain possession of a copy of a secret convention at that 
moment being concluded between your country and Ger- 
many, and that I must get possession of it at any cost, 
through you. It was in order that I might betray you 
that the Imperial permission had been given to our mar- 
riage. In indignation I refused, whereupon he threat- 
ened to expose me to you as a Russian spy, and I saw 
only too clearly that any such revelation must end forever 
our acquaintance. He cajoled, urged, threatened, and 
explained all the elaborate precautions that had been 
taken by two clerks in Russian pay at your Foreign Office 
in order that on a certain day you should carry the prec- 
ious document in your pocket, and how he had pre- 
pared the dummy envelope sealed with your Minister’s 
seal. At last — at last, after striving long and vainly 
against the performance of this ignominious action that 
I knew must reflect on your honesty, I was compelled to 
submit. Ah! you can never know what agony I suffered. 
I verily believe that in those few days the terrible ven- 
geance of that scoundrel drove me insane. The hideous 
ghost of the past causes me to shudder whenever I think 
of it.” 

I echoed her sigh, but no word escaped me. Her 
revelations were astounding. I had never suspected her 
of being actually a spy, although the discovery of the 
stolen convention in her escritoire had lent color to that 
view. 

‘T deceived you,” she went on in a hard, monotonous 
voice. ‘‘But only because I loved you so fondly, and 
dreaded that this man, who had long ago vowed to wreck 
my life, would expose, and thus part us. Yet I could not 
bring myself to commit the theft, How could I place 


28 o 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


upon you — the man who was all in all to me — the stigma 
of having traitorously sold your country’s secrets? The 
man who held me enslaved, and whose attentions I had 
spurned, exulted in his malevolent revenge. Once he 
offered, if I would renounce all thought of you and treat 
him with more cordiality, to commit the theft himself; 
but I refused, determined at all hazards to remain with 
you as long as possible. Once it was thought that the 
secret convention would be sent to W arnham Hall, and 
I was compelled to go down there to devise some means 
of obtaining it. I found Dudley staying in the village, 
and we returned to London together. The end must 
soon come, I knew. Therefore I lived on in daily terror 
of what must follow. At last the day dawned on which 
I had to meet you at the Foreign Office, and filch from 
you the bond of nations. After breakfast I stood out on 
the lawn by the sunny river’s brink, contemplating sui- 
cide rather than your ruin, when there rowed up to the 
steps Dudley Ogle, who hailed me, inviting me to pull up 
to Windsor, and there lunch with him. At once I ac- 
cepted, and after embarking, told him of my dilemma, 
and besought his assistance. As you know', he was a 
good amateur conjurer, and skilled in feats of sleight-of- 
hand. Without thought of the consequences, he resolved 
to commit the theft for my sake, and when I had fully 
explained all the facts and given him the dummy envel- 
ope that the cunning chief of the Okhrannoe Otdelenie 
had prepared, he turned the boat and put me ashore at 
'The Nook,’ afterwards rowing rapidly down to Shep- 
perton to change and go at once to London.” 

"He did this because he loved you?” I exclaimed 
sternly. 

"No,” she answered reassuringly. "Poor Dudley was 
simply my friend. Fie called on you and extracted the 
document from your pocket while you lunched together, 
because he saw in what a dilemma I was. He knew I 
loved you dearly, and never once spoke a single word of 
affection to me. That I swear before Heaven. What 
followed his visit to Downing Street I have only a hazy 
idea, so full of awful anxieties was that breathless day. 
From Waterloo Station he telegraphed to me that he had 


THE THRALL. 


281 


successfully secured the agreement and handed it to the 
chief of spies. The latter, who had been waiting in Par- 
liament Street expecting me, seeing him, took in the sit- 
uation at a glance, and approaching him, asked for the 
document, which he gave up. An hour afterwards, fear- 
ing that you might suspect me, I telegraphed to you at 
Shepperton to dine with us, well knowing that already 
the text of the convention was at that moment being 
transmitted to Petersburg, and that war was imminent. 
You came; you kissed me. I loved you dearer than life, 
yet dreaded the frightful consequences of the dastardly 
act I had instigated. Suddenly, while we were at dinner, 
and you were laughing, happy and unconscious of the 
conspiracy against the peace of Europe, a thought flashed 
across my mind. I well knew that an awful conflict of 
armed forces must accrue from my deep, despicable cun- 
ning, and it occurred to me, as I sat by your side, that I 
would, using the secret cipher I had been provided with, 
telegraph to St. Petersburg in the name of the chief of 
spies, assuring our Foreign Department that a mistake 
had been made. I slipped out, and running down to the 
telegraph office just before it closed, sent a message to an 
unsuspicious-looking address, stating that the text of the 
convention already sent had been discovered to be that of 
a rejected draft, and not that of the actual defensive alli- 
ance which had received the signature of the Emperor 
William.” 

“Then it was actually this message of yours that pre- 
vented war?” I gasped, in profound astonishment. 

“Yes,” she answered. “Before receipt of my telegram 
all preparations were being made for the commencement 
of hostilities, but on its arrival the Tzar at once counter- 
manded the mobilization order, and Europe was thereby 
spared a terrible and bloody conflict. Ah! that was in- 
deed a memorable night, brought to a conclusion by a 
dark and terrible tragedy.” 

Her astounding disclosures held me dumfounded. I 
remembered vividly how, during our lunch at the Ship, 
Dudley had risen and gone out to the bar to speak to an 
acquaintance. It was at that moment, having stolen the 
document from me, he glanced at its register number and 


282 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


imitated it upon the dummy with which Ella had provided 
him. 

“But how came you possessed of the original of the 
convention?” I asked. 

“A week before I fled from you I received it by post 
anonymously,” she replied. “When compelled by my 
enemy to leave you and return here to my true position, I 
unfortunately left it behind, and knew that, sooner or 
later, you must discover it. The man who, with the Tzar’s 
authority, held me under the lash, still holds me, the play- 
thing of his spite, and threatens that if I allow you to 
come here and occupy your rightful place as my husband, 
he will denounce me to the British Government as a spy. 
Hence I am still his puppet, still held by a bond of guilt 
that I dare not break asunder.” 

“Be patient,” urged Sonia, in a deep, calm voice. “Be 
patient, and you shall yet be free.” 

“Ah! Geoffrey,” sobbed my wife, her blanched, tearful 
face buried in her hands, “you can never, I fear, forgive. 
After all, notwithstanding the glamour that must sur- 
round me as Grand Duchess, I am but a mean, despicable 
woman who foully betrayed you, the man who loved 
me.” 

“You atoned for your crime by your successful effort to 
preserve the peace of Europe,” I answered. 

“Yes, yes,” she cried, with a quiver in her voice there 
was no mistaking for any note save that of love; “but, 
alas! I am in the power of an unscrupulous knave who 
parted us because he saw me happy with you. Can you 
ever forgive me? Can you, now you know of my un- 
worthiness, ever say that you love me as truly as you did 
in those bygone days at The Nook?’ Speak! Tell 
me!” 

“Yes,” I answered, fervently pressing her closely in 
affectionate embrace. “I forgive you everything, dar- 
ling. You sinned; but, held as you have been by the 
hateful conditions imposed upon you by a base, unprin- 
cipled villain, I cannot blame, but only pity you.” 

“Then you still love me, Geoffrey?” she cried, panting, 
gazing up into my face. 

For answer I bent until my lips met h^rs in a long fond 


THE THRALL. 


283 


caress. In those moments of ecstasy I was conscious of 
having regained the idyllic happiness long lost. Even 
though her story was full of bitter and terrible sorrow, 
and rendered gloomy by the tragic death of her self-sac- 
rificing friend, the truth nevertheless brought back to me 
the joys and pleasures of life that not long ago I believed 
had departed from me forever. 

Again and again our lips met with murmured words of 
tender passion — she declaring that her crime had been 
flagitious and unpardonable, yet assuring me of what I 
now felt convinced, that her love had been unwavering. 
If it were not that she had resolved to renounce her title 
and become my wife she would never have fallen beneath 
the vassalage of the infamous scoundrel who sought her 
social ruin. 

Thus we stood together locked in each other’s arms, 
exchanging once again vows of love eternal, while Sonia 
stood watching us, sad, silent and motionless, save for a 
deep sigh that once escaped her. She knew that supreme 
happiness had come to the woman she had once de- 
nounced as my bitterest foe. 


CONCLUSION. 

It was four o’clock on the following afternoon. The 
black, iron-studded doors of the Bank of England were 
just closing. The beadle mopped his brow. The traffic 
around the Royal Exchange was becoming more con- 
gested, as it generally does at that hour, and perspiring 
clerks hurrying along Threadneedle Street sought the 
shady side, for the sun was still powerful. So hot indeed 
was the season that general permission had been granted 
everywhere in the City to wear the jacket suit and straw 
headgear reminiscent of Margate, in place of the con- 
ventional silk hat and frock coat. Although in the West 
the houses were mostly closed, and thousands were absent 
in the country and by the sea, the great, turbulent, bust- 
ling crowd that constitutes business London showed no 
sign of inactivity or decrease as, accompanied by my wif§ 


284 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


and Sonia, I walked up Old Broad Street to that pile of 
offices known as Winchester House, through the swing 
doors of which passed a constant stream of hurrying 
clerks. 

By the lift we ascended to the second floor, and then 
passed down a long corridor to a door on which was 
inscribed the name of “Mr. Andrew Beck.” We entered 
a large office of business-like aspect, where some dozen 
clerks were busy writing, and were informed that their 
principal, although absent, would return in a few min- 
utes, therefore we decided to wait, and were ushered into 
a comfortable private room, one door of which opened on 
to the corridor. 

Scarcely had we been seated a few moments when the 
click of a latch-key was heard in the door, and my friend 
Beck entered. He was well-dressed as usual, with a 
green-tinted carnation in his button-hole, and a glossy 
hat with brim of the latest curl stuck a trifle rakishly upon 
his head. The instant he confronted us the light died out 
of his face. 

He drew himself up with a quick look of suspicion, 
while from his lips there escaped a muttered imprecation. 
Without further ado he turned on his heel, as if preparing 
to make a hurried exit, but in a moment Sonia, detecting 
his intention, sprang towards the door and prevented him. 

“Well?” he asked, with a sorry endeavor to remain 
cool, “why are you all here? This is an unexpected 
pleasure, I assure you.” 

It was Sonia who, standing before him with dark, flash- 
ing eyes, answered in a tone of fierce hatred and con- 
tempt, — 

“I have come, Andrew, to present my congratulations 
upon your forthcoming marriage,” she said, with her pro- 
nounced foreign accent. 

“They could have been conveyed by a penny stamp,” 
he retorted impatiently. 

“You taunt me, do you?” she cried in a towering 
passion. “You, the cunning, cowardly spy whom I shield- 
ed because you professed love for me. Had I spoken 
long ago you would have met with your deserts, either 
at the hands of the Nihilists, or at those of justice. Al- 


CONCLUSION. 


285 

though myself a criminal I yearned for love, and foolishly 
believing that you cared for me, preserved the secret of 
your guilt, allowing you to wreck the happiness of Geof- 
frey Deedes, the man who twice proved my friend, and of 
Elizaveta, the only honest woman who ever spoke kindly 
to me or endeavored to induce me to reform. Because 
you were chief of the Tzar’s spies and I was notorious, 
with plenty of money always at command, you imagined 
that you held me irrevocably. Well, for a time, you did. 
Your false protestations of affection caused me to refrain 
from exposing your base, cunning, heartless infamy. It 
was you, with your renegade underling Renouf, who 
contrived to get me introduced to Elizaveta in order to 
further your own ends; but it was you also, when fearing 
that I might make some ugly revelations, made un- 
founded allegations against me to General Sekerzhinski, 
and informed him of my whereabouts, so that I was com- 
pelled to fly from Pembroke Road and seek shelter where 
I could.” 

His eyes were fixed upon her with a look of fierce 
hatred, and he muttered some incoherent words between 
his teeth. 

'‘Yes,” she went on defiantly, “I know you are anxious 
to close my lips, because of the startling disclosures it is 
within my power to make. The Department in St. Pe- 
tersburg have in you a keen, cunning spy, but when it be- 
comes known throughout England that Andrew Beck, 
the popular Member for West Rutlandshire, is in the pay 
of the Russian Government, do you anticipate that you 
will still occupy your seat in the House of Commons, or 
at the Committee you have so ingeniously obtained for 
the investigation of the strength of England’s defences?” 

He started. His face was ashen pale; his cigar dropped 
from his nerveless, trembling fingers. 

“Geoffrey,” she went on, “has already heard from 
Elizaveta how cleverly you tricked her, and with what 
dastard knavishness you compelled her to instigate the 
theft of the secret convention. She — ” 

“Then the world shall know that the Grand Duchess 
Elizaveta Nicolayevna is in the Secret Service!” he cried 


286 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


fiercely. ‘'She has betrayed her country and her kins- 
man, the Emperor!” 

Sonia, smiling in contempt, said, — 

“The denunciation will be your own condemnation.” 

“Why? What have I to lose?” he asked indignantly. 

“Your life. The police have not yet forgotten the 
tragedy at ‘The Nook.’ ” 

He glared at her open-mouthed. 

“Perhaps it may be well at this moment to recall some 
facts that you may have found convenient to forget,” she 
went on ruthlessly, while E standing beside Ella, drank in 
eagerly every word. “You will remember where you re- 
duced the stolen document to cipher, imitating Dudley’s 
handwriting on the telegraph forms. It was at my house. 
The envelope containing the agreement had been opened 
in the ‘cabinet noir’ at the Embassy, the intention being 
to replace it at the Foreign Office. But it was I who 
broke the seal. In your hurry you left the document be- 
hind, and even when you returned two hours later, your 
mind was so full of other things that you did not re- 
member it; so I gummed down the cut edges, and sent it 
afterwards to Elizaveta. When you came the second 
time you had with you a pair of men’s gloves. Whose 
they were I knew not, but you got me to sew inside the 
index-finger of the left hand a tiny, jagged splinter of 
glass, and upon that glass, when you thought I did not 
observe you, you smeared some of that fluid that Ruyan- 
dez, the Haytian merchant, had given me long ago. 
That poison I kept locked away in a small cabinet, but 
many months before I had shown it to you and explained 
that it was some of that used by the Obeah men, and so 
rapid was it in effect that one single drop would cause 
paralysis of the heart within five minutes without leaving 
any trace of poison. You obtained a key to that cabinet, 
for when I had gone from the room on that afternoon I 
watched you unlock it, take out the reed containing the 
decoctPDn, and prepare the glove.” 

“Liar!” gasped Beck. “I didn’t touch it.” 

“The glove,” she continued, “belonged to Dudley Ogle. 
That day Elizaveta had told him that you, a member of 
the English Parliament, was the chief of Russian spies. 


CONCLUSION. 


287 


and you feared lest he should expose you, as no doubt he 
would have done if you had not, with cowardly cunning, 
taken his life.” 

“Murderer!” cried Ella, amazed. “You — you killed 
him! Ah! I suspected it. Tell us, Sonia, how it was 
accomplished.” 

“The gloves this man brought to my house were a pair 
he had taken up by mistake when at Shepperton on the 
previous evening. For cool and desperate plotting, the 
manner in which he killed the man he feared was as- 
tounding, for, having introduced into the finger of the 
glove the tiny piece of glass, he, during that evening at 
‘The Nook,’ took out his victim’s gloves from his over- 
coat in the hall and replaced them by those prepared. 
When Dudley left to walk home he bade farewell to you, 
and at once proceeding to put on his gloves, received a 
scratch on the finger so slight as to be almost unnotice- 
able, yet within five minutes the effects of the poison had 
reached his heart, and he was beyond human aid.” 

“Amazing!” I cried, regarding my whilom friend with 
intense loathing as he stood before us, his face a ghastly 
hue. 

“It’s untrue! Who will believe such a woman?” he 
cried. 

“Everyone will,” Sonia retorted quickly. “See, here is 
the proof,” and she drew from her pocket a well-worn 
suede glove of dark gray, which I recognized at once as 
being one of the kind always worn by Dudley. “The 
splinter of glass is still inside.” 

The man who had led the double life of spy and legis- 
lator, and who had amassed a great fortune in his specu- 
lations in African gold, stood livid, with terror-stricken 
eyes riveted upon the evidence of his crime, like one 
transfixed. 

“The Tzar will have no further employment for a mur- 
derer,” exclaimed Ella at last. “Neither will the House 
of Commons permit a spy to sit in its midst. When I 
consented to enter the Secret Service of His Majesty, it 
was with one object — to obtain permission to marry. This 
I have attained, and because of Geoffrey’s generosity and 
free forgiveness I have now no further fear of the opinion 


288 


WHOSO FINDETH A WIFE. 


of the world or of revelations by a man who is proved to 
be a murderer. At last I have secured freedom from your 
hateful tie.” 

“Then you intend to denounce me?” Beck cried, glanc- 
ing around with a wild, hunted look. 

“Twenty-four hours from now I shall place Lord 
Warnham in possession of the whole of these curious 
facts. If you are still upon English soil, you will be 
arrested for the murder of my friend,” I answered calmly. 
“I see plainly how, while I left you alone with the dead 
man, you placed in his pocket the brass seal found upon 
him, and how cleverly you managed to introduce the 
bogus passport and evidences of forgery among his pos- 
sessions. Yours was a devilish ingenuity, indeed.” 

“If I fly you will not follow?” he gasped eagerly. 

“Wherever you may hide you will be followed by your 
guilt,” I answered. “A murderer can hope for no for- 
giveness from his fellow-men.” 

With his chin sunk upon his breast, and his wild eyes 
downcast, he stood in silence, leaning heavily against the 
wall. Then, slowly, with a final look upon him, I passed 
out behind my wife and the pale-faced woman who had 
so clearly substantiated her terrible charge. The ven- 
geance he had sought to bring upon Ella had fallen upon 
him and completely crushed him. 

In the library at Berkeley Square on the following 
afternoon I explained the whole of the startling facts to 
the wizened, ascetic old Earl, who sat speechless in 
amazement when he realized that Andrew Beck was 
actually a foreign spy. It was during the conversation 
that followed I learned that the man who had been loved 
by Sonia was Cecil Bingham, the young country gentle- 
man who, known to both, had sought to assist Ella in 
unearthing the identity of Dudley’s murderer. Sonia 
had misjudged my wife entirely, for she had never de- 
nounced her to Cecil, and the latter, being at that mo- 
ment a guest in the Earl’s house, was sent for, and before 
us all the pair became reconciled. 

Elizaveta Nicolayevna, or Ella, as I still call her, has 


CONCLUSION. 


289 


now renounced her country, and become thoroughly 
English. A year ago Lord Warnham, assured of my 
wife’s probity — for greatly to M. Grodekoff’s dismay, she 
had given some valuable information regarding the activ- 
ity of the Russian Secret Service at Downing Street — ap- 
pointed me to a responsible post at our Embassy in Paris, 
so that we now live together at the big white house in the 
Avenue des Champs Elysees, while Sonia and Cecil are 
also married and live quietly in a quaint old manor-house 
near Winchester. 

It was only the other day, however, that we heard men- 
tion of Andrew Beck, the popular legislator who so mys- 
teriously accepted stewardship of the Chiltern Hundreds. 
There was a paragraph in the newspapers stating that he 
had been found drowned in the Scheldt, near Antwerp, 
and foul play was suspected. Then Ella explained to me 
that the woman who had passed as her mother, Mrs. 
Laing, was, she afterwards discovered, a well-known 
Nihilist, and it was in order to keep observation upon her 
that the detective Renouf had entered her service. This 
woman, whose real name was Sophie Grunsberg, was 
greatly incensed against Beck on account of certain 
false accusations he had made against members of the 
revolutionary organization, and there was little doubt that 
he had fallen beneath their far-reaching vengeance. 

Here, as I pen these last few lines of my strange story 
of England’s peril, my own betrayal, and my wife’s fond 
love, Ella, with sweet, glad smile, moves forward to stroke 
my hair with soft, caressing hand. The odor of sam- 
paguita pervades her chiffons, stirring within me mem- 
ories of the past. We are together in the room I know 
so well, with its great windows overlooking the leafy 
Avenue. It is warm, the sun-shutters are closed, and 
from somewhere outside the gay air, “Si qu’on leur-z-y 
f’rait qa” is borne in upon the summer wind. 

At last our days are full of passionate love and idyllic 
happiness. Verily there is great truth in those words of 
Holy Writ, “Whoso findeth a wife, findeth a good 
thing.” 


THE END. 


















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